From the Waist Down
by At A Venture
Summary: Eric/Sookie. This is a re-write of my fic, Dead from the Waist Down. Consider it bigger, longer, and uncut. Or something. If you liked DFTWD, you'll love this version too!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: One of my first Sookie Stackhouse stories was extremely popular. It's called Dead from the Waist Down. However, I've always wanted to re-write it, to see if I could make it better. This is an attempt to do just that. I hope that this story is scarier, more intimidating, and more descriptive. Once again, this story includes sexual violence and may be a trigger for survivors of sexual violence. Because this is a re-write, it is NOT the exact same story as the original. Much of it has been changed. Only the base plot remains the same. So, if you read DftWD and liked it, I suggest you read this one as well!  
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**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 1_

He walked into the bar and looked around, his eyes drifting from one table to the next. It was Saturday, the busiest night at Merlotte's Bar and Grill at the edge of Bon Temps. My section was packed, but the vampire managed to find a lonely booth toward the corner, underneath a television broadcasting the LSU football game. There were men and women in a huge semi-circle seated around the set, pitching their hands in the air when the team scored, groaning with disgust when the other team scored. No one seemed to notice Eric Northman, vampire and Sheriff of Area Five, seated underneath the television, his deep azure eyes pointed right at me.

I carried pitchers of Pabst Blue Ribbon, our special on tap, to all of the tables whining about the referee, brought a bucket of hot wings to a banquet sized gathering of LSU alumni, and finally made my way to the tow-headed man in the corner. He nodded at me; a slight tilt of his head that I knew meant so much more than a silent acceptance of my service. He ordered a bottle of synthetic blood that would go untouched. I didn't bother heating it in the microwave. He would want to save his hunger for our meeting after work.

Eric Northman was responsible for my protection, and that was fairly common knowledge. He'd been bestowed upon me as a service by the King of Nevada and Louisiana, primarily as a way to keep a mind reader safe from harm. Of course, since the guard had changed, my relationship with a certain Viking vampire had gone undercover. No one knew we were seeing one another, sleeping with one another. No one knew that Eric Northman spent at least three nights a week in my bed, until a few hours before dawn.

I watched him as I walked from one table to the next, slinging beers and serving fried chicken strip baskets and hamburgers. At the bar, Sam was on duty, thoroughly enjoying the crazy atmosphere. He shot only one look at Eric, one disturbed, gruesome look. My boss, Sam Merlotte, wasn't too crazy about the number of vampires in my life. Sure, it wasn't any of his business, but that didn't really seem to stop him. I pushed Sam out of my brain and returned my thoughts to Eric. The Viking. My Viking.

Stop, Sookie, I thought. That's not your Viking. That's Eric Northman, Sheriff of Area Five, owner of a vampire bar in Shreveport, slightly annoying, grouchy, and perfectly capable of turning you into a pile of orgasmic jelly. I paused, right in mid-step, and giggled. I'd last seen him on Thursday night, when he'd shoved me up against the kitchen counter and rocked me so hard that I'd smacked my head on the microwave, giggled maniacally, and taken a nip of blood from his jugular. Words couldn't accurately describe the kind of fun we'd had that night.

"Hey! Sookie! Can I get that beer?" Hoyt Fortenberry yelled me over, dragging me out of my sex-induced daze. I carried a pitcher over to his table, also occupied by my brother, Jason, and a few of the other guys from the Bon Temps Road Crew. I brought them a bowl of peanuts as well and daintily dropped both objects onto the damp wooden table top. There was a roar from the LSU alumni table. The team had scored again.

The bar didn't calm down until about ten minutes after last call. I helped Sam wipe down the tables while Arlene cleaned up dishes and swept the floors. We were out at a little past two, and I stepped under the security lamp with Sam while he locked the back door.

"Goodnight, Sook, drive safe." Sam nodded to me and walked to his trailer. He went inside and shut the door behind him. Out of the darkness, Eric emerged. He held an elbow out to me, smiling in a completely innocent of all sexual impulses sort of way.

"May I escort you to your car, Miss Stackhouse?"

"Can't be too careful out here," I murmured, keeping up our charade. I took his arm and we walked across the gravel under the bright beam of the parking lot light. I climbed into the driver's seat, and Eric slipped into the passenger side. His own car was nowhere to be seen, and I gathered he must have flown to Bon Temps from Shreveport.

Hidden inside the car, Eric leaned over and brushed his fingers against my chin. I swooned, completely drawn into him by my own lust. I wanted him, right then and there, across the car seat. I didn't think I could wait until we got back to the old farmhouse. Still, I put the car into gear and peeled out. The Viking stroked my thigh as we drove, his hand dipping between my legs as we drove down the gravel driveway and parked in front of the back porch. I was trembling by the time we reached the porch steps, and inside the house, I pushed him into the wall and kissed him hard. My tongue swirled over his while my arms wrapped around his neck.

"Sookie," Eric growled against my ear lobe when I'd torn my kiss away. He dug his hands underneath my work shirt and pulled it over my head. His hungry mouth dove between my breasts, yanking at the blue polka dot bra I'd worn that day. He turned us around so that I was against the wall, my shoulder blades smacking hard against it. We were rough, as though we hadn't seen each other in months. I scrambled with the button on his jeans and released his gracious plenty, as though I were unwrapping a bar of succulent dark chocolate. He was inside me in seconds, slamming me against the wall until the ceiling fan shook with our violence.

"Eric," I groaned, unable to contain my pleasure any longer.

Still poised on his hips, his hands underneath me for support, Eric carried me to the bedroom. He tossed me on the bed and threw off the remainder of his clothes. I watched him undress in awe. My Viking was the most beautiful man I had ever seen or known. I inhaled the scent of his cologne, just a drop of it at the dip in his collarbone. He knelt over me, taking time to suckle at my breasts, to graze his fangs along my hip, to bury himself between my thighs. I curled my fingers into his hair and squirmed with delight. I returned the favor. I relished it.

After two hours of nonstop copulating, I had to stop and breathe. Eric tucked me into his chest, his bicep underneath my head like a pillow. I tickled my fingers idly on his cool skin, admiring the pristine beauty of his form. His whole body rumbled when he spoke, and it sent shivers through my skin.

"I have some bad news," he murmured. His hand twisted through my hair. "Pam and I have been summoned away to New Orleans on an errand for the King. We'll be away for a week."

"A week?" I felt a pang of sadness in my heart. That would be at least three nights away from him. I could barely stand to think about it.

"I'll have Bill watching the house, and Sam keeping an eye on you at work. I am worried about leaving you alone, unprotected." He looked displeased, his mouth turned into a scowling frown that I did not like one bit. Still, I didn't need to be looked after. I wasn't a convict on the run. I certainly wasn't worth this much frustration and finagling.

"I don't need to be looked after. I'm a grown woman." I protested. Eric leaned over to kiss my forehead, but he looked stern.

"Things are still up in the air with the new regime, my lover. While I'm away, I want to know that you're safe. If anyone tried to hurt you…" He clenched his teeth and I watched his fangs roll out halfway. Okay, got it, wasn't squirming out of this arrangement. I changed the subject.

"You talked to Sam?"

"He knows that you are under my protection. That is what we discussed. He does not seem to like me." Eric smirked.

"You don't like him either."

"He wants something he cannot have," Eric winked at me. His lips brushed against my forehead, and then my temple. "He is jealous, perhaps angry about it."

I sighed, wondering about Sam and his possible feelings for me. Sam was a good man, a good friend, but I'd never felt anything more for him than close friendship.

"And Bill," I frowned. "You told Bill to watch me."

"Bill always watches you, my lover. He loves you. I guarantee you he's out there right now, a sentinel."

"Well, boy if that doesn't suck the desire right out of me." I sank into the sheets, turned over. I pressed my back into Eric's hip, but not in a way that suggested he attempt to pull me out of my sudden slump.

"It doesn't please you to have so many men desirous of your company?" Eric teased, turning on his side to spoon with me. He kissed the back of my neck, slipped his arm around my waist.

"Not even a little," I frowned.

"Then I shall have to please you with my own desires." Eric grinned. I couldn't see him grinning, but I knew he was. His hand reached up to cup my breast while the other dove between my damp thighs.

***

I awakened the next morning after nine o'clock to an empty bed. I sighed and rolled over to touch the button on the alarm clock, only to find a folded note on top of it. I reached up and grabbed it, then settled back into my Eric-scented sheets to read it. The Viking had gorgeous script handwriting, and he'd signed the little slip of paper with an almost royal _E_. I read the note aloud, trying to mimic his deep voice. _My lover, I will miss you. I promise to bring you back something beautiful from New Orleans. Be safe. E._

What would he possibly bring me back? Lingerie? Flowers? I thought about all the goodies Eric might bring back from the city while I showered and wrote out a list of errands to take care of before heading out to work. I grabbed a handful of library books from the kitchen table, loaded the dish washer, put some laundry in the dryer, and mowed the front lawn. Two o'clock mid-shift came around quickly, and I had to haul ass to the bar to relieve Danielle.

Because it was Sunday, the bar was quiet. I spent most of my shift in a kind of daze, reliving the night before as though it were a really great pornographic movie. I kept rewinding and fast-forwarding around the bad news of his departure, skipping to the good parts. Oh those were some good parts. I giggled as I sat at the bar, filling salt shakers. Sam raised an eyebrow at me, but I just smiled dreamily.

"What's going on, Sookie?" Halleigh Bellefleur asked me when I dropped off a glass of lemonade at her table.

"Oh, I just bought a new outfit," I giggled at her. Halleigh beamed at me and gushed about a few outfits she'd just bought too. I listened in a half-assed sort of way, hearing her without really hearing her. I nodded when I was supposed to do so, shook my head when necessary, and thought about Eric's pale skin soaked in the moonlight that peeked through my bedroom blinds.

We closed the bar down at eight o'clock on Sundays, so after we'd divided the tips, while Sam was cleaning up in the bar, I went down to his office to grab my handbag. I dropped my apron off in the laundry basket and opened the back door. There he was, Bill Compton, staring me right in the eye. He looked as though he were poised to open it and had been caught in the act. He gave me a weak, awkward look and stepped out of the doorway to let me by.

"Bill," I frowned. I dug my car keys out of my bag and walked over to the vehicle, sitting in the beam of the security light.

"Sookie," Bill nodded. "I came to escort you home."

"I know how to drive, Bill." I sneered at him. This was just getting ridiculous now. Was it always like this and I just didn't notice? No. No it wasn't. Bill was not usually showing up at the bar, waiting to follow me home.

"These are uncertain times, Sookie. Eric asked me to keep an eye on you."

"He told me. But I still know how to drive to my own house. This is ridiculous is what it is."

Sam appeared. He was locking up the back door, and he turned to stare at me and my ex-vampire whatever. His face was sour, obviously disapproving.

"Everything alright, Sook?" Sam called.

"Fine, Sam. Everything's just fine."

"Alright, well, goodnight." Sam waved and walked over to his trailer. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was staring at me through his window shades.

"I'll just follow you home in my car, Sookie." Bill said, pointing to the small blue hatchback parked a few spaces away from me. I sighed and nodded. After all, we were going to the same place, right? I unlocked my car and got in. Bill revved his engine. We drove out in the direction of the old cemetery, but at the turnoff to my house, Bill followed me. I was seeing red when I got out of the car, my house keys poised and ready.

"Damnit, Bill! I told you I'm fine!"

"Sookie, we really need to talk…" Bill began. His eyes were dark with sadness.

"No. No way. You may be assigned to protect me or whatever for Eric, but I am not going to let you use this opportunity to chat about your maker and whatever else happened in Mississippi! Do you hear me?! If I hear so much as a peep out of you about that whole thing, I'll never speak to you again!"

And with that, I went in the house and slammed the door.

I knew him instantly, but it took a minute for me to place a name on his face. He got to his feet from my Gran's floral sofa. That thing never made anyone look good, but it was a sentimental object and I needed to keep it. When he stood, shivers rolled through me like waves smacking into the beach. I dropped my keys on the floor.

"Victor Madden," I mumbled.

"Sookie Stackhouse," Victor nodded his head in that vampire way of greeting. Gooseflesh covered every single inch of me. I think I forgot to breathe. My heart forgot to beat.

"How did you…" I started. Arms clamped around me from both sides and I turned frightfully to see two enormous Weres pop out of the shadows of my darkened house. Oh this was not good. This was so very not good.

"Remember to rescind your invitation next time you have a vampire in your house, Miss Stackhouse. Otherwise, we're liable to come in whenever we please." Victor sneered as the hot hand of a Werewolf clamped down over my mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 2_

I squirmed, trying to rescind the invitation over and over again. My words came out garbled, and apparently, no matter how much thought you put behind a rescinded vampire invitation, if you didn't say it clearly and out loud, it didn't mean much at all. Victor grinned at me, his lips peeling back from two rows of clean ivory teeth. His fangs were only half-visible, the pointed canines barely descending below the straight front teeth. I caught myself wondering if Victor had been alive after braces had been invented or if he was just unbelievably lucky.

"You are a pretty young woman, Miss Stackhouse, and an enormous asset to my King's growing empire. The only thing missing is your obedience. I understand you have a…" he paused, almost relishing the sound of his own sinister voice. "…a spitfire personality." He took a few steps toward me, and with each beat of his shoe upon the old maple floor, his fangs seemed to drop a little further. When he was inches from my face, the smell of his mouthwash slapping me in the face, they were grazing his tongue. His hand darted toward my face and I, of course, flinched. The Weres clamped onto me, even tighter, to hold me still. Victor's fingers were slivers of ice on my cheek. He traced the line of my face, his fingernails gliding over my cheekbone, tracing my chin. I would have shaken with rage if I could have moved at all.

"Don't worry, though," Victor grimaced. "I'll cure you of that little flaw soon enough."

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, to his two muscled associates. Before I knew what was happening, a thumb pressed painfully into the back of my skull. I yelped, but the sound was muffled. The world turned to darkness in mere seconds, moments of time that lapsed before I could even complete a fully realized sound.

The technique has something to do with pressure points, a fact I remembered from a mystery novel as I came back to the land of consciousness. My head throbbed, particularly at the base of my neck. Fingers of pain radiated down my back and up into my head like some kind of killer migraine from Hell. I tried to sit up, to move around, and that was when I realized the lights were out. In fact, I didn't even have a sense that light had ever existed here. I didn't even know where 'here' was located. The floor rumbled beneath me, and when I did manage to get into a sitting position, I smacked my already aching skull on a low ceiling. It hurt to think, to move, to function. I wiggled, outstretching my arms. They felt like lead, limbs so heavy and laden that I could barely move them at all. When I did, my arms knocked against more walls. I dropped a hand to the floor and my fingers brushed against rough carpeting. The ground under me continued to vibrate, and it was then that I realized where I had ended up. It was like my worst nightmare, come true.

I was in a car trunk, and that car was moving.

I didn't have a great history with car trunks. In fact, my ex-whatever had attacked me in a trunk only a year ago and it was an event that I never really released from my thoughts. That night still haunted me, sometimes plaguing me in my dreams. There I was, pushed into a trunk by a friend's deranged ex-girlfriend. Bill was starving, and after he'd fed from me, he decided to complete the deal with the instinct most closely related to eating. He'd violated me, right there in that trunk, in the pitch blackness.

The memory came rushing back to me like a battering ram. I began knocking on the four walls that surrounded me like a coffin. Despite the pain in my head, I started screaming. I knocked and screamed, knocked and screamed, and by the time the car stopped with a squeak of the brakes, I was exhausted and out of breath. The trunk popped open and I moved to wiggle out. A rough, heavy hand collapsed over my arm and yanked me viciously from the back of the car. I dropped to my knees on a square of gravel, only to be hauled back to my feet with such extreme force that I let out a squeal.

The parking lot looked eerily familiar, but I couldn't place it until the Were, a pale-skinned, black haired, dark eyed werewolf wearing black leather on every scrap of his body, dragged me up to a plain gray door. It was the service entrance for Fangtasia, Eric's vampire bar in Shreveport.

"Welcome to Fangtasia, Miss Stackhouse," Victor grinned, standing so suddenly before me that I had to do a double-take. Where had he come from? He had a comb in his hand, and he used it to swirl the pomade curls in his thick brown hair. Apparently, Victor Madden was still stuck in 1955 with the greasers. "You should know, it's under new management."

"What the hell do you mean?" I spat at him, trying to take a swing at him but missing pathetically. "Where's Eric? What did you do to him?"

"He's on another assignment, my dear." Victor deposited the comb in his breast pocket and sank toward me again, his hand wrapping around my throat. The Were dropped my arm as Victor lifted me off the floor. Air caught in my larynx and I began to choke. My toes tingled as I kicked them to and fro. My arms rose instinctively to claw at his hand. Can't breathe. Need air.

"My dear," he mused, squeezing my neck tighter. I could see black and blue spots in front of my eyes. My ears were buzzing, and it was difficult to hear him. Eric, oh God, Eric!

"I like the sound of that." Victor smiled. He leaned in and pressed his mouth against mine. He smelled like greasy pomade and Listerine mouthwash. I was gagging, pulling at his fingers. I had to open my mouth to choke down air and when I did, his tongue shot down my throat like a cobra attacking its prey. Though I couldn't think or breathe, I reacted as instinctively as my body knew how. My leg jumped out, catching him right in the kneecap.

I hit the floor, smacking into a barstool on the way down. Air rushed into my lungs, blessed relief. Victor looked to his two companions, their faces identical in their disinclination to give two shits about me. He grunted at them, and the two men stomped out the way we had come in, through the slate gray service door. I was alone in the dark bar, closed while Eric and Pam were out of town. One of the house lights had been turned on over the bar, and I could see a few boxes of True Blood sitting out, waiting to be stowed away. I grabbed onto the barstool beside me and dragged my bruised body to its feet.

"I'm under the King's protection. You can't keep me here." I sneered at Victor, trying to reason my way out of this mess. I suddenly regretted telling Bill to leave. I was most definitely not fine right now. Was there a way to kick in that whole blood bond thing? I still knew almost nothing about the process, but I did know that when you exchanged blood with a vampire, he could find you. The question was, would he know to look for me?

"The King would be extremely pleased if I bonded with you, Miss Stackhouse. We could be rid of Eric Northman for good. In fact," he paused, checking his watch. "We may already be rid of the Viking."

"What did you do to him?" I yelled, taking a step backward. Victor was advancing on me, his footsteps slow and methodical. I ran my hand along the bar. There were three exits out of Fangtasia: the front door, the service entrance, and Eric's private door through his office. If we kept going this way, I'd eventually be in Eric's office. I could barricade myself inside, maybe find a weapon. I could get the hell out of here.

"Why is that any of your concern?" Victor winked. "It's not as though you care for him, is it?"

"What?" I guffawed. "Of course not."

"Right," Victor smirked. He moved forward with the speed of a vampire, suddenly shoving me up against Eric's office door. The wind rushed out of my lungs like a squeezed accordion. I was gasping for air again, like a fish out of water.

"He's certainly not in your thoughts right now. You're not thinking about him coming for you, saving you, protecting you. You're not wishing he was in your bed, or shoving you up against a kitchen counter, or slamming you into the first few steps on your white wash staircase."

Oh God, I thought. Oh God. He knows.

I wasn't sure how he knew, but Victor Madden knew a lot. He knew more than he should have known about my escapades with a certain Viking vampire. I couldn't even imagine how he might have found out, unless he'd been watching us through a hidden camera. Maybe…maybe he'd spoken to Amelia somehow, or maybe his secret vampire ability was invisibility? I couldn't think about that now. It didn't matter. What mattered was what he had done to Eric, what he planned to do to me. I realized I was hyperventilating, sucking in sharp, shallow breaths that only caused more tension.

Victor reached past my hip, his cufflink scraping my skin. He turned the knob on the door and it fell open. I lurched backward into the office and Victor followed, shutting the door behind us. He didn't bother to lock it. No one was going to disturb us here. No one knew I was missing. Eric was in danger, somewhere between Bon Temps and New Orleans. Pam was with him. Bill was probably moping at his house. Sam was likely asleep by now. Bile crept up the back of my throat. I was in Deep Shit, Louisiana, and for the first time, I realized there was no way out.

***

Back in Bon Temps, Bill Compton was standing on the Stackhouse porch, his hands stuffed uneasily in the pockets of his khaki pants. Behind him, the gravel driveway rumbled and a blue pickup truck rolled down alongside Sookie's Malibu. Sam fell out of the car and marched up to the backdoor, prepared to knock. He was holding a cellular phone in one hand, the screen lit up.

"Bill," Sam grunted, taking a long look at the vampire. "Still keeping watch I see."

"What are you doing here?" Bill narrowed his eyes.

"I had a bad feeling that Sookie might be in trouble. I tried calling her a couple times, but she didn't answer. It's only been forty minutes. She couldn't possibly have gone to bed already."

"I had a bad feeling as well," Bill agreed, turning to look at the door.

"What do you mean? You just got here!" Sam looked angry now. He knocked on the back door. They waited a moment.

"We fought. I left for awhile to let her cool off. I have only just returned." Bill paused to listen. "I do not hear anything inside."

"Just a sec. She keeps a key under the mat somewhere." Sam lifted up the welcome mat to search for the key. Bill stepped past him and pulled open the door.

"We won't need it. It is unlocked."

Sam and Bill walked inside, moving in either direction. Sam lifted his nose to the air and inhaled, yanking in a number of familiar smells and a few not so familiar ones. He stopped in front of the ugly floral sofa that had been in Sookie's house for as long as he'd known her. Bill stepped up beside him, as if out of nowhere. There might have been another reaction, a squeak from Sam as his personal space was grossly invaded. However, the smell at this very spot was so foreign that neither man seemed to notice the other.

"Do you smell that? Pomade and Fresh Mint Listerine mouthwash?" Sam touched the cushion, and then lifted his hand to his face.

"It's Victor Madden," Bill growled. "He has Sookie."


	3. Chapter 3

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 3_

"Just…you just stay over there," I fumbled at Victor. I fell backwards as the door opened, and I was only stopped by a loud smacking sound when my backside hit Eric's big wooden desk. That was definitely going to leave a painful bruise, but if I could find a way out of here, I didn't care so much about the straight line pounded into my ass muscles.

"Or what?" Victor chuckled, knitting his eyebrows together in his amusement. He looked beyond me at the door exiting Eric's office into the parking lot. With a movement I barely noticed, he grabbed one of Eric's heavy bookcases from the wall and slid it in front of the door. It opened outward, that I knew, but unless you were a vampire, you weren't getting past it. Last time I checked, I was still just a person, a weak, pathetic, very-trapped-right-now person.

"Bill Compton!" I yelped so suddenly that I surprised even myself. "He's been charged with my protection while Eric is away. He'll come for me." I felt a bad taste on my tongue when I remembered what Eric had said. Bill was always watching me. He loved me. He wouldn't let anything happen to me.

"No one is coming for you, Sookie. No one knows where you are. Besides," Victor sank toward me. His hand cupped my cheek in what might have been considered a _sweet _way, if he weren't a cold-blooded murderer. "You belong to me now."

"I absolutely do not!" I screeched. Shock mixed with my overwhelming inner self-preservation and hardcore independent streak. I didn't belong to anyone, not even Eric. I was no man's property, regardless of that man's status in my life. And I most certainly did not belong to a cretin like Victor Madden.

"When this night is over, Miss Stackhouse, you'll beg to be mine. You'll beg for it."

I lurched backward, sliding up onto Eric's desk in a desperate attempt to get away. Maybe I could find a weapon in his desk drawer. Maybe he had some matches or a sharp stick or a gun. Okay, I know guns can't hurt vampires that much, but it would be enough of a distraction to buy me some time. I yanked at the top drawer to find pens, a small black velvet box, and a notebook. If it had been any other moment in time, I would have opened the little box and peeked inside. But right now, it was a projectile. I grabbed it, and about five ballpoint pens, and chucked them at Victor's head before yanking open another drawer. There was nothing in it.

"Enough of this," Victor growled. I looked up. He'd caught everything I'd thrown at him. Of course he had. He was a damn vampire and I was not the champion softball pitcher that Tara had been in middle school. I didn't have quarterback experience like Jason. I'd been the oddball, the weirdo. Now I was, apparently, every vampire's dream date. They were all coming to collect at the same time.

Victor strode around the desk and grabbed me by the arm. He lifted me up off the floor and tossed me across the room. I fell back against the opposite wall, my body sinking into the sofa cushions of Eric's dark green couch. I moved to get up, my shoulders hurting, but Victor was on top of me in less than a second. His mouth found mine a second time, and his snake-like tongue writhed against mine for a full minute. I swore and snorted, tearing at his suit jacket, his hair, his skin. Nothing deterred the man. If anything, it seemed to spur him on.

_Oh God, Eric. Eric, help me! _

But no one came. No one burst through either of the doors on opposite sides of the small room. There were no sounds other than Victor's muted growl and the rapid thumping of my heart beating against the walls of my chest. A hundred scenarios went screaming through my brain as Victor's hands descended the length of my torso. His mouth pulled, at last, from my face. I squirmed under him, struggling to find leverage but there was none. His tongue lapped at the pale skin of my cheek. I could feel a streak of redness forming on my neck. My skin was hot to the touch, flushed from the ordeal.

"All vampires have a talent, Sookie. I'm sure you know this. Bill Compton can run at an unprecedented speed. Eric can fly. I can prevent your blood from coagulating. You can bleed to death from my bite, if I choose it."

_You'll beg to be mine. You'll beg for it._ I shuddered. No way. There was no way. I would rather die than belong to Victor Madden. I couldn't even imagine feeling his putrid excuse for "emotions" through a blood bond, the way I felt Eric. I would absolutely rather bleed to death than be "rescued" by this devil.

"I understand your blood is a delectable treat. You are a legend, Sookie. You are an elixir." Victor seemed to groan with pleasure, even before he bit into me. He positioned his head against my throat. His arms held me against the sofa. I couldn't move. I couldn't even struggle. I was stuck, pinned by a supernatural force. I tried to hold back the tears, but they dripped down my face anyway. Victor didn't seem to notice or care.

The bite was more painful than any I had ever experienced, and I've had a few in my time. He didn't just sink his teeth in. He tore at my skin, tearing away a chunk of flesh which he spit into my lap like a beer bottle cap. Blood poured out of the wound, into his mouth, onto his face. It soaked into my clothes and the cushions of the sofa. I let out a scream that was almost inhuman. The tears dried up, as if every bit of water in my body was fighting to get to the gushing hole in my neck.

I found myself thinking about how quickly I would bleed to death from the jugular. It wouldn't last too long. Did vampires go to heaven? Would I see Eric there?

Victor licked at the hole, the hole that radiated pain. Despite the clot that I knew was forming, the pain didn't cease. It only throbbed more. I was weeping again, my shoulders heavy with tension and fear. Victor leaned back to look at me. One of his hands dropped from my arm and rose up to cradle my cheek. I tore away, disgusted.

"Have patience, my dear." He grinned sadistically. "We are only just getting started. The night is still young, and I will have you before it is over."

I lifted my eyes to the clock on the wall. It was only three-thirty, and the calendar had already hit October. The nights were getting longer, and the sun would not rise until close to seven in the morning. Vomit shot up my throat, but I swallowed it, stinging my esophagus with stomach acid. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. I wasn't going to let him win.

Victor's arms were under me before I could think ahead any farther. He yanked me from the sofa and threw me back, back onto Eric's desk. I'd made love to Eric on this desk, many times. I tried to imagine his cool face, his deep blue eyes, his blond mane falling into his eyes. All I could see was Victor's arrow-like face, his greasy brown hair. His lips curved up into the most gruesome look I had ever seen. That's when I knew what was happening, what was going to happen. It had all been some kind of unrealized nightmare before. I was ready to bleed to death. I was ready to be honest, to admit that Eric and I were involved, that I _loved _him. But I wasn't ready for this. I couldn't do this.

Victor's belt buckle jingled like keys shoved into a car's ignition. My skin was moist, a cold sweat dripped down under my clothes, stuck into the crevices of my flesh. No, no. This can't be happening. This can't be happening! Victor's hand flew out and wrapped around my throat like a vice. I fell back against the desk, prone. Every muscle seemed to freeze solid, unmovable. I wanted to scream, to fight back, anything at all! Instead, I stared at him with wide eyes and prayed.

***

"God damnit, I can't drive any faster!" Eric growled at the dashboard, his arms flying erratically in gestures of frustration. At ninety-nine miles per hour, forty miles over the night speed limit on the interstate highway, Eric's vintage black Camero raced through the darkness. Pam was beside him, punching numbers into a cellular phone.

"I'm still not getting an answer," Pam frowned, pulling the phone back from her ear.

"Try Bill! Try Sam Merlotte! Gods be damned, Pam. Something is _wrong_!"

"I'm trying," Pam said quietly. She looked down at the cellular, Sookie's name lit up on the screen. The phone kept ringing, but there was no answer. It was just past three-thirty, and they were coming up on the exit for state highway 175. At this speed, they'd be there in twenty minutes or less. Pam punched in the speed dial for Bill Compton and let the phone ring.

***

"She's here," Sam grunted, sticking his head out the window of the truck. He could smell Sookie on the breeze, and he could sense she was terrified. He pulled the truck to a stop, about twenty feet from the driveway into Fangtasia.

"She's not alone," Bill growled, getting out of the passenger seat. Victor Madden was with her, and someone else, smells he didn't recognize.

"They're werewolves. I picked up their scent at the house. Probably bodyguards."

"I can take down a werewolf," Bill narrowed his eyes.

"Good," Sam nodded, unsure he could boast the same. "Because we aren't getting inside without puncturing the muscle."


	4. Chapter 4

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 4_

"I can smell you," George Larson grumbled, the tiny black hairs on the back of his neck rising defensively. He had a low, guttural voice and a cruel disposition to perfectly complement it. George Larson made a great mercenary, and since he'd been hired through the local army base, he knew everything there was to know about taking down an opponent.

"I can smell you too," Bill hissed. He stepped out of the dark, his fangs lowered and visible underneath a snarled lip. His dark brown eyes cut through the night, focusing in on the enormous werewolf standing in front of him. There was no full moon tonight, just a sliver of light in the chilly October air, but that didn't seem to stop George. He hunched toward the ground, his tan skin covering with thick black hair. Bill could hear the familiar sound of magic, a sound that Sookie likened to a thick soup being stirred. The Were was going wolf, making him a much deadlier opponent.

On the other side of the bar, at the front entrance, Sam stood behind Madden's vehicle, a polished chrome Cadillac with vanity plates that read _BITEME_. Attractive, Sam thought, as he stripped off his shirt and pants. It would be easier to change without them. He tossed the clothes, with his shoes, into the bushes that surrounded the parking lot. He couldn't change with any sort of stealth, so instead, he opted for speed. Sam Merlotte could change into anything that he had imprinted, but he most often went with the figure of a thin collie that wandered the bar's lot. His opponent, Angus Sharpton, was on alert. He heard the squashy sound of Sam's transformation and cocked the rifle gripped in his hands. Angus had picked up the smell of the vampire and the supe a mile away, but he'd gotten lucky. He'd ended up with a pup.

***

His pants fell around his knees, sinking with the weight of his black leather belt. Victor Madden had gone commando for the occasion, as if he knew everything would work out exactly as he had planned. It was, too, which made the whole thing all the more disturbing. With his free hand, Victor ripped at my shorts. I'd worn a pair to the bar, despite the lateness of the year. It was a warm night in October, so warm that shorts seemed more comfortable than the long black pants Merlotte's waitresses wore in the winter months. The thing about the shorts, though, was that they were light, flexible, and apparently, easily destroyed. The fabric came apart in his hands like tissue paper.

I set to screaming. Top of my lungs, full-fledged, straight out of a horror movie screaming. I was channeling Jamie Lee Curtis, and I prayed to God that someone, anyone, would hear me.

Victor seemed to revel in the whole thing, the torn pants and the violence of my voice. He grabbed me by the hip and yanked me down to the edge of the desk, my pelvis cocked in such a way as to provide perfect access. I pinched my legs together, crossing my ankles. No way. No fucking way was this going to happen to me. There was no way!

"Eric!" I screamed. "Bill! Please! Sam! Somebody! Oh God!"

"Scream my name next, Sookie," Victor laughed. "You have a beautiful voice."

His callous remark worked like a charm, just as it was intended. I clamped my mouth shut. My eyes darted to the doors, the blocked door, the office door. I expected to see it open, to watch someone come slamming through it. He'd grab Victor by the throat and yank him back with so much force that his head would detach from his body and he'd turn into a pile of smoke and ash and vampire dust. I waited. I waited and waited for something to happen.

And then something happened, but it wasn't the something I expected. Victor shoved his dick inside me like a freight train penetrating a tunnel in the side of a mountain. It was a sharp feeling, a rough and painful feeling. If my body could have split in half, it would have. Tears fell down the sides of my face. I stared at the ceiling. What had just happened? Why was this happening to me? I'd been kind to a vampire, just once, just one time, and now I was being…I was a pawn in the world's craziest political system. No no no no. My brain whimpered. I wept harder. My lower lip trembled uncontrollably.

No one was coming. No one was coming for me.

"Please," I whimpered. Was that terror-stricken, pained voice coming from my mouth? Was I begging? Was I letting myself beg? "Please don't."

"I told you, Sookie." Victor grinned. He pulled his hips back and lingered for a moment. "I told you that you'd be begging me." He charged in again, and the desk actually moved slightly on the floor.

Just then, at that moment, the door leading in from the bar burst open. Bill Compton stood framed with the single bulb beaming in the bar, the house light. His face was bloody, and I wasn't sure it wasn't his blood. His face carried slowly healing scratches, and his left arm was drenched in blood and sinew, as if he'd reached into an animal's guts and tried to extract something. I wanted to vomit, just looking at him.

"Get the hell off of her!" Bill roared, his face a mass of rage.

"She's mine," Victor sneered at him. There was a rumbling in the hall, as though someone were coming up behind him. My heart leapt, just for a moment. Eric? There was a roar so powerful that the room seemed to shake with the thunder of it. Bill yelled in pain and disappeared from the doorway. I could swear I saw a huge black muzzle clamping down on his shoulder.

I listened intently to the struggle, as did Victor. We hung in limbo for a minute, not moving, not breathing. There was a low howl, then the sickly sucking sound of a supe's transformation. A man appeared in the doorway, his face drenched with blood, his eyes bright and dancing. He grabbed the knob of the office door and shut it without a word. Victor turned back to me, his dark eyes glistening as though a flame had been lit behind them.

"You're mine, Sookie," Victor laughed. "You're all mine."

"No," I wept. I sank like a stone, seemingly smacking into the desk a second time. Victor bucked a third time, and then a fourth. I lost count. I stared at the ceiling, dead inside. I could feel no pain but the pain in my heart. Victor's grunting was barely audible. I could only hear the weighty thumping of my own heart, beating long after I willed it to stop.

Eric was gone, possibly dead. Pam was with him, stuck in the same boat. Bill had fought for me and obviously lost his life in the process. Sam…Sam was at home in his trailer, fast asleep. I was alone, alone in a world ruled by Victor Madden. I was his now. I'd been claimed, claimed by a creature that wanted only to use me to further his political career. Nausea washed over me in waves, but I didn't have the urge to vomit. After so many close calls, I'd finally lost. I'd lost everything.

I gave up.

Victor's fangs tore a second time at my skin, this time breaking the flesh at my femoral artery. I jumped, only because I was surprised. There was nothing left to fear. I welcomed death, bleeding from a wound in my thigh seemed like a perfect release. My head rolled to one side as Victor lapped at my blood, drawing me into him. He stood again, his hand cupping under the still gushing wound. He brought cups of blood to his mouth as he attacked my pelvis a second time.

My flesh was raw and dry, tense and bruised. I could feel my skin ripping as it tried to accommodate him. Victor Madden had been blessed in the girth department, and for once, I wished for a penis jealous of a #2 pencil. The tears had returned. They ran down my temples, taking my dignity and my pride, my will to live and my will to fight. I was no more than a shell of despair, a thing waiting to die. Could I will myself to bleed faster? No. I couldn't even will myself to stop breathing.

"Just kill me," I whispered. My tongue felt dry, like a piece of paper in my mouth.

"Not yet, my dear. Not yet." Victor cooed like a lover.

***

In the parking lot, Eric leapt from the car with the engine still running, the vehicle still in gear. His fangs clicked down against his lip, and his eyes narrowed to fearsome slits of icy blue. A huge six foot wolf galloped out of the bar, his paws and muzzle drenched with dark blood. As he jumped through the air, his front legs outstretched to attack, Eric grabbed his throat and twisted. Bone grinded against bone. The neck snapped like a twig under a hiking boot. The corpse dropped to the gravel in a heap, and Eric kept right on moving, through Fangtasia's front door, through the bar, back to the office door.

He took the knob roughly and yanked, ripping the door from its hinges with a scream of twisted metal.


	5. Chapter 5

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 5_

With my head already turned in the direction of the door, perhaps out of hope, perhaps only by coincidence, I was able to see the frame tear open. Eric Northman stood in the gaping wound of the wall, shreds of wood and metal dripping from the frame like the blood that continued to spill from my thigh. His normally pale face was ashen, and his eyes burst from their sockets, so dark and yet so blue that I could have swum in them and never reached the bottom. He didn't linger more than a second, time which he used to assess the situation. Victor was still inside me, a plug in a dry hole. His hand hung limply under the stream of my blood, the trickle of which made me weaker and closer to Gran with each minute.

Eric was fast, ridiculously fast. He crossed the room in less than a second, less than the time it took for Victor to open his mouth in reaction. I expected him to say "What are you doing here?" or "How did you escape?" like the villain in a James Bond movie. But Victor didn't say anything. The grin didn't even disappear from his face. Eric grabbed him by the throat and tore through the office, tossing him like a limp rag through the bookshelf he had used to block the door, through the door, and out into the parking lot. I could hear the faint rumble of a car.

He returned as quickly as he had left, perhaps faster. I found his face reflecting in my eyes, and I turned away. I couldn't face him. I couldn't look at him. My thoughts drifted to the little black box I'd discovered in his desk drawer. Whatever it was, I wasn't worthy of it now. I could no longer be with the Viking. I belonged to Victor now. I was his.

"Sookie," Eric almost breathed. It would have been a breath if he had functioning lungs. He lifted me from the table, but I felt limp, like a wash rag. My arms and legs lolled over his arms, useless, pathetic, and dead. Drops of something hot fell onto my cheek as the Viking tucked me against his chest and carried me out the back door.

"They're in the back," Pam said shortly. Her voice was rough, as though she'd been fighting. What could she possibly have been fighting? There was no one left. There was only me. I couldn't put up a fight, even if I wanted to do so.

"Go," Eric directed her after planting us, together, in the passenger seat of the car. He held me against him like a child's baby doll, protected and safe.

But I wasn't protected. I wasn't safe. I couldn't look at him. How could he stand to touch me?

We were either flying or speeding, but Pam pulled the car to a screeching stop after a brief five minute drive. Eric pushed the car door open and lifted me out. I looked down at the ground, feeling dizzy. The world seemed to spin on an axis, and though I'd eaten nothing all day, I threw up. The vomit didn't go far. Some of it splashed onto Eric's shirt, a plain white tee shirt dotted with drops of blood. More of it oozed down my front, my white Merlotte's shirt, almost red with my own blood. Now it was red, and a yellowish green. I was Christmas colored!

I giggled, a sound that was eerie even to me.

"Ssh," Eric whispered, adjusting me in his arms so he could hold me tighter. My cheek pressed against his chest and I could hear his heart not beating. I closed my eyes and tried to push Victor out of my head. It didn't work. His glowering eyes and clownish grin burned through my corneas, seared into my memory like a brand. My eyelids rolled open like the shades in a Goofy cartoon. Bile rushed up my throat from the depths of my stomach, burning my esophagus. I was going to be sick again, despite the lack of contents in my gut.

"Sick," I winced just before I vomited a second time, over Eric's arm and onto the pavement. The rank saliva and stomach acid drenched his shirt sleeve, his forearm, the sidewalk leading up to the house. Eric didn't flinch, but held me even closer. I heard the squeak of a door opening, Pam's movement inside as though she were lugging something heavy. Eric moved behind her, and shut the door.

I could see beige fluffy carpeting, spotlessly clean and sufficiently cozy. I don't know how I knew, maybe by the lack of windows on the wall I could see, but I was certain this was Eric's home. Together, we drifted down a dark hallway, into a back room with an ornate ceiling lamp. In the middle of it, flanked by two small side tables, there sat an enormous bed with a dark blue comforter and black sheets.

"Sookie," Eric whispered after placing me on the bed. I instinctively curled into a tight ball, despite the lingering pain that inched through me like a cancer. The Viking's large hand touched my shoulder tenderly. I flinched, but he did not draw back.

"I'm here," he said gently. "I'm here."

***

In the middle of Eric's living room, supported atop brown leather sofas, Bill Compton and Sam Merlotte lay unconscious. Bill's shoulder was healing, as was the fist-sized crack to his temporal lobe. His pale skin was almost bright white, and his lips were chapped and raw. If he were not already dead, he would appear close enough to the pearly gates to warrant concern. However, Pam knelt beside Sam Merlotte, her arm poised over the supe's open mouth. His naked human body was motionless, pale, and clammy. A hole gaped in his abdomen, blood dribbling out of it continuously.

***

"Let's get you cleaned up," Eric murmured. He left me for a moment on the bed, and I realized I was shivering. Don't leave me, a voice whimpered in the back of my head. Please don't leave me alone. I could hear a faucet turn on, water splashing into a basin. Eric was back in a second, his arms draping around me like soft cloth, one of Gran's quilts.

"I'm right here, Sookie." Eric spoke quietly, as though he'd read my thoughts. "I won't leave you."

He lifted me from the bed, still curled into a fetal position, my knees drawn up to my chest. Blood followed behind us in a trail, a trail of drops that stained the white tile. He took me to a chair sitting beside the bathtub, a gorgeous porcelain tub built into the wall of an enormous bathroom. Eric knelt on the floor and touched my knee, just barely, his fingertips hardly contacting the skin.

"Don't!" I yelped suddenly, slamming my thighs together like the covers of a hardback book.

"My lover, you're bleeding. It hasn't stopped since I found you. Please Sookie, let me see."

"It won't stop. He said it wouldn't ever stop." I was shaking now, so violently that my teeth started to chatter. I was still going to die tonight. Maybe that would be better for everyone.

"I need to see it," Eric frowned. He looked up at me from where he sat. His eyes were rimmed dark red, as though he'd been crying. It was such a strange sight that I relented.

I parted my legs, just enough to let Eric see the wound. It was a hole, a hole in my flesh, deep and gory with my blood. I stared from the wound to the vampire's face, and he seemed troubled. He felt troubled. His emotions swam into me from all sides, and I knew he was conflicted. There were decisions to make, decisions that would surely frighten me. That was the last thing in the world he wanted. He'd already let so much go terribly wrong.

"Take my blood, Sookie," he said at last, getting to his feet. He turned off the faucet on the tub, and took my hand, standing over me.

"No," I said, so softly that I wasn't sure I'd actually spoken aloud.

"We only have two options, my lover. I can lick the wound, and it will close. Or I can give you my blood."

"No," I said again, no louder than before.

"I won't let you bleed to death," Eric hissed.

"I want to die."

I dropped my eyes to the floor, to avoid his gaze. It was true. Eric didn't know. He had no idea. I belonged to Victor. I was claimed. I was his. If this wound didn't kill me, I would remain his until the day that I did die. If I could speed up the process, I could make this whole night disappear like a dream. Eric's hands touched my shoulders, but I didn't dare look at him.

"Sookie, please," Eric pleaded with me. I watched as a drop of blood descended from above and hit the floor. I lifted my eyes to see if he'd already opened a wound in his arm. He hadn't. Instead, a trail of the life giving force had fallen from the corner of his eye and dropped onto the porcelain. "Take it. Please."

I couldn't stand to see him cry. Men weren't supposed to cry, and Eric Northman, in particular, was not supposed to cry. I ripped his arm toward me with a force I didn't know I had. I bit into his skin, feeling blood under my papery tongue. I took only a few drops, not enough to do much more than clot the wound. Then I pushed his arm away. Though I wasn't looking, I knew he lifted his cut to his mouth and licked it to seal the flesh. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to my skull, a gesture of thanks that flowed through me from the spot he'd kissed. He stood in silence for a moment.

"Come," he murmured. "The bath will help."

Eric helped me shed the remainder of my clothing: my stained Merlotte's tee shirt, my black tennis shoes, my white cotton panties and white cotton bra. I stared straight ahead so I wouldn't be tempted to look down at the mess Victor had made. The Viking lifted me from the floor and placed me carefully in the bath. He joined me a moment later, and though he was naked, I was glad to have him close by. He told me he wouldn't leave me, and I knew he meant it.


	6. Chapter 6

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 6_

Eric's blond muscular arms embraced me from behind, and he drew me against him. Though I longed to be close to him, my heart beat quickened in my chest. I could only imagine Victor, his hands around my throat, his tongue lapping at the blood rushing from my veins, the invasive injection of his masculinity. I tore away, splashing water onto the floor as I moved to the other end of the tub, away from the Viking. I was panting, I realized, and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

"He said you were gone," I whispered hoarsely, as though my voice had left me for safer places.

"There was no one waiting for us in New Orleans, Sookie. I was on the phone with the King when I heard you." Eric looked at me from across the bathtub, his cool eyes almost black. His mouth turned down in an expression of pain, pain I'd never seen on his face before.

"You heard me?" I blinked.

"Your terror, I could feel it. I could hear you, your pain, your fear. I threw myself back into the car and drove back as fast as I could."

"How?" I asked, though I was certain I knew the answer.

"You are bonded to me, Sookie. When I joined with you, I had feelings for you. That makes our connection stronger, much stronger. And those feelings, they have only increased with time." He paused, and his eyes closed. They opened again a moment later, their color softer, more sapphire than black. Part of me wanted to go to him, to curl against him and feel safe.

"I love you, Sookie."

"It doesn't matter now," I said coldly, not missing a beat. It didn't either. I'd never belong to Eric, or anyone else, again. I was Victor's property now. I'd been claimed. Rivulets of despair dripped through my veins. "Victor…"

"I'll take care of Victor," Eric grunted, as softly as he could manage. The coldness rushed back into his eyes so that they almost glowed.

"He claimed me. I'm his." The words were dead weights on my lips. Bile lurched up my throat for a third time, and it was all I could do to turn my head and heave over the side. My gut clenched and pain shot like BBs through my limbs and torso.

Eric floated toward me and took me back into his embrace. I wiped my mouth with the back of my arm and looked at him, his hands on my arms. He sought my eyes, and when he'd found them, I was trapped in the heaviness of his stare.

"You belong to no one, Sookie." He touched my cheek with a wet thumb. "No one owns you."

"You're wrong." I spoke quietly, but a rage was building in me. Blame settled on my shoulders like lead. There was more to it than a simple claim of ownership, a power that Victor suddenly held over me. I'd done this thing, this horrible thing, to myself. I'd let this thing happen. I'd been so stupid. I'd yelled at Bill about Lorena. I'd sent him away. I didn't have any protection when I let myself into the house.

And I didn't even fight back, not when it mattered. He was on me, on top of me, and I just let him do it. At first, I didn't realize my cheeks were hot and wet with tears. It was only when Eric dragged me against him, his cool chest a wall in which to bury myself. He didn't say a word, but his hand rose up to stroke my hair. I looked down at his hand, his forearm laced with blue veins, and I thought about how much easier things would be if I let him heal me. Would the life-giving blood in his body erase my memories if I let it? Would it heal the holes in my soul? Could I be safe if I just gave him access?

"If I drink from you, will it all disappear?" I was sullen and quiet, but he heard me. The hand in my hair stopped moving, and Eric remained as still as death.

"No, my love," he sighed. "Nothing can make it disappear."

I wanted to weep, to just give in and let my emotions take over. But it seemed like, now that fighting didn't matter anymore, I was fighting every instinct to let go. I was a control freak, a wall of steel. I kept the anger and the heartache in, and showed only what couldn't be chained up. There were a few tears, a few shivers, but that was all.

Wordlessly, Eric brushed my tangled hair from my neck. He lifted a white wash cloth from the corner of the tub and began to dab at the wound Victor had left me. Though I couldn't see it, I knew it was bad. Pain still oozed from it like smoke swarming around the embers of a fire. He dipped the cloth in the water, and a cloud of red tinged the surface. Eric didn't seem to flinch. For whatever reason, the sight and smell of blood seemed to have no effect on him.

***

Sam Merlotte sat up suddenly, knocking his forehead against Pam's arm. He threw himself from the sofa and staggered to his feet as though dizzy. His eyes narrowed and he lifted his nose to the air, tracking Sookie's scent.

"She's with Eric," Pam said gently, admiring the well-formed muscle of Sam's backside. He was certainly an attractive man, for a supe. "She's safe."

"I need to see her. I need to be sure." Sam grunted, turning to look at Pam. He didn't seem to notice that he was naked, or that it mattered. There were other things to consider now. Sookie was in trouble.

"I don't think she's capable of receiving guests at the moment, Sam." Pam shook her head. "Besides, you aren't wearing any pants. Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"What happened? The last thing I remember, I was at the bar." Sam shook his head. His hand drifted wearily in front of his genitals, as though he were only vaguely aware of his nudity.

"You were shot, with a hunting rifle, in the gut. I know you heal quickly, but you would have died if I had not fed you." Pam smiled thoughtfully. It had been her pleasure. She could now sense Sam's whereabouts, and that would surely be handy in the future.

"Vampire blood?" Sam looked squeamish.

"If you prefer, I can shoot you again and we can test out the death-by-gunshot theory." Pam shrugged.

"Thanks, but I'll pass," Sam frowned. He looked over at Bill, still lying on the sofa, his eyes closed. The wound to his head was still healing, the cracks in his skull binding themselves together. "And him?"

"Bill will be fine. He needs time, but we have plenty of it. The sun will not rise for another three hours. I will take him to ground before the time comes."

"Sookie, how is she?" His voice felt raw and scratchy, imagining Sookie in the clutches of the greasy Victor Madden.

"I don't know." Pam shrugged. "But Eric has locked Victor in the basement. I imagine we will know more soon."

"Jesus," Sam swore. "I hope she's okay."

***

After an unreasonable amount of time in the tub, with pruned fingers and toes, Eric lifted me out of the water and wrapped me in a fluffy white towel. He prepared to carry me out of the bathroom, but when we passed the mirror, I held up a hand to stop him. I crept toward it, holding the towel around my shoulders like one of Gran's afghans. My hair was limp and wet, pieces of it stained pink with blood. I pushed back a handful of it and looked at the garish bite on my throat. The flesh was ragged, and a full quarter-sized chunk of skin was missing. The bite had scabbed over, but it looked revolting. Beyond the bite, there were bruises on my neck, finger shaped bruises. I didn't want to look any farther, but something inside me compelled me. I dropped the towel in front of the full length mirror. It pooled at my feet. There were more hand-shaped bruises on my hip, where he'd grabbed me. My thighs were red and black and blue. I turned out one leg to look at the bite on my thigh. It was even worse than the one at my throat, blackish in places, scabbed, scraped.

Eric came to stand behind me. He retrieved the towel from the floor and wrapped it carefully back around me. My lips quivered, and my skin rose up in goose bumps. In the mirror, I watched him press his lips to my crown, his cheek brush carefully against my wet hair. I was glad those myths about vampires and mirrors were untrue. I needed to see him right now. I needed to know he was there. Eric lifted me back up, carefully, his arms supporting my shoulders and hooking under my knees.

In the bedroom, he pulled back the covers and placed me down on the sheets. An oversized tee shirt lie on the bedspread, intended for me. I grabbed it and squirmed into it, letting it drape over me like a parachute. The mattress was luxuriously soft, but I couldn't relax into it. Instead, I sat straight up like a soldier and waited for Eric to reappear from his closet. In a minute, he did, clad in a pair of cotton pajama pants. I could see the soft blond hair on his chest, glistening like wheat reaped under the morning sun.

"You can't love me now," I whispered to him as he sat down beside me. He turned and stared at me, his arm slithering around my waist.

"Why?" He asked, sounding neither irritated nor angry. If anything, he seemed sincere.

"How could you…after…after I let this happen?" I almost choked on the words.

"Sookie," he frowned, touching my chin. He lifted my head to look up into his solemn face. "It wasn't your fault. Do you understand me? It wasn't your fault."

But it was. I knew it.


	7. Chapter 7

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 7_

I turned over, like a child avoiding her parent, and crossed my arms over my chest. Eric's tee shirt was big in every way, hanging loosely around my arms and chest, clinging awkwardly to my thighs and pooling around my stomach. I stared at the wall, unblinking despite the fact that I was monumentally tired. Eric didn't move for a moment. I couldn't get anything from him. Whatever emotions he might have been feeling, they didn't pass between us. For whatever reason, our blood bond was a one way street. I drifted into him, but he didn't echo in me. It was better that way. I couldn't stand to feel whatever he was feeling. I could barely deal with my own problems.

The lights dimmed but remained on, and while I was regretful of the shadowy golden light produced by the dimmer switch, I was so glad to have the light on that I didn't really mind. Eric nestled back into the bed clothes, his long legs sliding beneath the cool sheets and warm blanket. Finally, he put out an arm in my direction and lightly touched my shoulder. Did I want to go to him? I was so conflicted that I couldn't decide. I wanted to crawl into his arms and never leave him, but at the same time, I didn't want hands on me. I didn't want to be touched. Frustration set in quickly, serving only to make me more confused and angry about it.

"Come, Sookie, under the covers," Eric urged me. His voice was rich but soft, a hint of concern underlying the tone.

"You're wrong," I whispered, almost hissing the words. I sat up, my hands forming small fists like a child throwing a temper tantrum. Tears glinted in my eyes, but I couldn't let them fall. I wouldn't give Victor the satisfaction. I tucked my knees into my chest and dug holes in the wall with my glowering eyes.

"About what?" He asked gently. He took my shoulder more firmly and turned me to face him. I stared past him at the closet doors.

"Everything that happened was my fault. I have to take the blame. I have to accept that. I let it happen." I inhaled sharply. Eric was stony beside me, though I could only see a portion of his face. I refused to look at him completely. "After Felipe took over, it was too dangerous for us to be together, but I couldn't stand to be without you. So, I pursued the relationship. I never should have gotten involved with vampires, with you, with Bill. It was all a big thrill. I couldn't hear your thoughts and it was so…so different from anything I'd ever known. So I let you all pull me in. I let it happen. It's no one's fault but mine. I deserve everything you all ever did to me. It never would have happened if I hadn't gotten involved. It's my fault. I didn't even fight back."

"Sookie Stackhouse, look at me." Eric gripped my shoulder firmly, and used his free hand to push my chin in his direction. Our eyes met and I couldn't look away. It was just that his eyes were hypnotic, deep and serenely blue. Now they were almost smoldering with rage. "No matter what has happened between you and vampires since you met Bill, none of that has to do with what happened tonight. Victor used you. Do you hear me? He used you and attacked you and hurt you in order to elevate his position in Felipe's circle. Victor is a callous, cold, manipulative bastard, and he absolutely will not get away with what he's done to you. I will see to his punishment myself, regardless of what Felipe de Castro thinks about the matter. None of this is your fault. You are a beautiful, brave, independent woman. You survived a trauma tonight, but it was not your fault."

He softened and touched my cheek tenderly, his lips rising up to kiss my forehead.

"You need to get some rest, my love," Eric murmured, tucking the blanket around me like a cozy shield. "Close your eyes."

"I'm scared," I whispered, almost ashamed to admit it.

"I'm right here. I won't leave you." Eric frowned at me.

"It'll be daylight soon." I looked at his clock on the bedside table. It was nearly six, the morning after the longest night I had ever known.

"You can wake me during the day, Sookie. It won't take much."

"Will you stay awake until I fall asleep?" I was already yawning.

"I'll do anything you need, my love."

***

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what happened to her," Sam grunted, standing at the front door. His hand lingered near the knob, and outside, the taxi cab blared its horn for a second time. Sam stuck his hand outside in the dark and held up a finger, telling the driver to wait.

"I don't know the whole story, Sam," Pam shrugged. She could feel the sun long before it tinged the horizon with incendiary yellow light. It wore her down, made her ache for a protected place to ground for the day.

"Tell me what you know."

"She was inside the building with Victor Madden, the right-hand man of Felipe de Castro, the King of Louisiana, Nevada, and Arkansas. I don't know why Victor lured Sookie in, what he intended to garner from their meeting, but I do know that he attacked her. I understand she was badly hurt."

"He bit her," Sam growled like an animal.

"More than that, I think. He bit her, yes. But there's more to it than that. I didn't ask, and I haven't spoken to Eric, but I saw her. I haven't been a human in a long time, but women have a sixth sense about these things." Pam turned her head to one side and closed her eyes, almost as though she were in some kind of deep meditation. Finally, she opened them again. There was a fire behind her irises, a dancing fire that looked about as far from the comical Pam as was conceivable. "Her clothes were torn, the shorts she wore to work. I believe he violated her."

Sam boiled over and, at the same time, sank like a stone. He wanted to scream, but his voice was caught in his throat. He wanted to run back to Eric's room and pull Sookie into his arms, but he couldn't move his feet. The cab honked a third time, but Sam sank against the heavy front door until he was crouching on the floor. The hairs rose up on the back of his neck and his eyes stared vacantly ahead, unseeing.

"Is he dead?" Sam breathed.

"Not yet," Pam answered him, her voice still hard to describe. "Eric had me shackle him up in the basement. He has not left Sookie's side since he rescued her from the bar."

"May I do the honors?"

"I don't know anything about his plans. You will have to ask him yourself." Pam shrugged thoughtfully.

"I'm not leaving."

"We have a guest room that you're welcome to occupy. Like the rest of Eric's home, it has no windows. The sun is nearly ready to rise, and I'm going to ground. Bill will be joining me. There is some food in the cabinets and refrigerator. You are welcome to feed yourself."

"Pam," Sam stopped her. He still hadn't risen to his feet.

"Hm?"

"How is she?"

"I have not seen her, but if my own experience is any indication," Pam paused. "She is not well."

***

I was screaming at the top of my lungs, but he couldn't hear me. I scrambled in the dark as pitch blackness, my arms flailing wildly, my knees scraping against brick and mortar, my toes sucking into the deep swamp mud. I was sinking, just trying to keep above water, begging for help. Hands came rushing out from beneath me and yanked, dragging me down faster and faster. I threw out my arms, wailing, crying, but the sound only reverberated in my head like a bullet shot into a steel-walled room. It bounced off every wall and jumped back at me, useless. I let my arms drop like weights. Sinking faster and faster, I was up to my chin in water before I knew what had happened.

_Eric, please. Please help me._ If I just thought, he wouldn't hear me. My voice couldn't go any louder. I was alone in the abyss of black mud, trapped. I didn't fight back. I let it happen. The mud rose up to my nose and bubbled as I breathed. Take your last breath, Sookie. You're as good as dead now.

I sat up suddenly and looked around the dark bedroom. Eric slept soundlessly on the bed beside me, his body as straight as a steel rod and about as cold. The alarm clock behind him read three after three in the afternoon. Sweat formed in beads on my neck and face. The room was strangely cold, and as soon as I realized that an air conditioning unit was blowing cold air on my cold and damp body, I began to shiver. Then, I began to convulse. When I started to hyperventilate, huffing in short shallow breaths that served only to wind me up and threaten to make me pass out, I shook Eric. His shoulder wobbled once. I pushed him, as hard as my weak arms could manage.

Each passing second only served to work me up more, making breathing more difficult. The room began to spin, and I thought I saw Eric's eyes flicker. Don't pass out, Sookie. Try to take a deep breath. Calm down. I couldn't. I couldn't calm down. Eric looked up at me, his deep blue eyes groggy with the sleep of the dead. He sat up instantly and took me against his chest. His arms darted out like attacking snakes. His hand rubbed my back slowly. My fingertips began to tingle like they'd fallen asleep, and my head ached while my eyes spun like the cars on a Tilt-a-Whirl.

"Easy, Sookie," Eric murmured gently against my ear. "Deep breaths. Ssh. Listen to me." I let my eyes close and I tried to hear him. Victor's face loomed up and my eyelids peeled back again. I panted faster. I began to feel sick.

"Listen to my voice, Sookie," Eric said. "Hold your breath."

"Can't…" I huffed.

"You can. You don't want to pass out. You had a nightmare. If you pass out, you'll have to see that nightmare again. Stay with me. Hold your breath."

I puckered my lips and held a gasp of air in my mouth, my cheeks sticking out like a squirrel filling up for winter. Eric stroked my hair, his fingers sorting out the strands and untying the kinks and knots.

"Now, as you let it go, I'm going to count to five. Let it out the whole time. Ready?" I nodded. "Okay. 1…2…3…4…5."

I breathed out through my mouth, letting the air escape like a hole in a balloon. We did the exercise again and again, five times before I was calm enough to relax and breathe on my own. Eric lay back down on his pillow and pulled me with him. He tucked me into his bare chest, his skin warmer from the heat of the blanket. Though I kept my eyes open, I tried to relax.

"Just rest, my love," Eric sighed.

"I take it back," I whispered, exhausted from the panic attack. Already my eyes were heavy again, but I was afraid to go back to sleep.

"Hm?" Eric blinked.

"It does matter…that you love me, I mean." I tucked my head under his chin, and though I couldn't feel him through the bond, it was good to be so close to him. "I love you."

"Rest, Sookie," Eric sighed lightly. He began to hum, his low voice rumbling through my skin as we rested together. I couldn't fall asleep and let that monster back into my thoughts. I wanted to stay bundled, wide awake, in my lover's arms forever. While Eric hummed tunes to songs I didn't know, I passed out again. I only lasted ten minutes.


	8. Chapter 8

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 8_

I awakened at dusk to find her still sleeping, her swollen, bruised body tucked against my ribcage like that of a frightened animal. She was shivering in her sleep, and I longed to be able to reach inside her, to soothe the ache in her heart. That just wasn't possible, no matter how strongly we were connected. In a thousand years, I'd never felt so close to a human, and it seemed as though with every night, I was pulled closer to the young waitress from Bon Temps. My soul burned with anger, and though I hated to leave her alone, I had to wash the disease of Victor Madden from the Earth as soon as possible.

In the bath the previous night, I'd watched her features contort as she felt the consequences of our blood bond, the pain inside me that passed through into her. She was already tortured, already in so much pain. I didn't know it was possible, but I was able to sever the connection. I could still feel her, her terror, but she seemed unable to sense the hatred that boiled within me. Knowing what the night had in store for me, it was a blessing that came only with the consequence of divided focus.

I touched her cheek, careful to avoid waking her. When I admitted that I loved her, I knew that truer words had never passed my lips. But, on the other hand, if she'd never been in this situation, I might never have realized that I was capable of such an emotion. I'd fallen in love with a human, or at least mostly human, girl. At my age, love seemed as impossible as willing my heart to beat. And yet, I had somehow accomplished it. I had let this girl, this independent and fiery woman, into my core. Her suffering was more than I could stand.

There was a soft knock on the door, and I moved across the bedroom to open it. Pam stood outside the door, her eyes revealing an emotion I could not put into words. Could Pam even feel emotions? Her mouth was flat, the smirking grin hidden away.

"If she stirs, alert me at once." I grunted firmly.

"Of course," Pam agreed. She stepped into the room, a pale blue skirt rustling against her white thighs. "Sam and Bill wish to accompany you."

"Let them wish," I snarled. "Madden is mine."

"He violated her," Pam stated tentatively.

"He tried to conquer her," I growled, looking over my shoulder. Her chest rose and fell with each breath.

"She's strong, Eric," Pam murmured as I stepped out of the room. "She's going to make it."

I stalked down the hallway, through the living room, to the door that led to the basement. Sam Merlotte stood near a sectional black leather sofa, his hands balled into fists, his face red with anger. Hatred seeped from his pores, so thick I could smell it filling the room. Bill stood only a few feet away, his face pale and his fangs out. His brown eyes were alight with the fire of rage.

"I will deal with Madden alone," I grunted at the pair of them, my voice thick, daring them to defy me. Bill, of course, could do nothing. He was my underling. But Sam was bold. He took steps forward. He would not be denied.

"I'm going with you. I want a piece of that son of a bitch!" Sam howled.

"Do not test me." My eyes narrowed, and my fangs slid down around my tongue. "Go and see Sookie. Keep her safe."

That comment seemed to rile him, to remind him of his failure. We had all failed her, all betrayed her. Sam sank backward like a puppy hit with a newspaper. Bill's features sank without a sound. I yanked open the basement door and descended the dark staircase, so quickly that the stairs did not have time to creak.

***

Wordlessly, Sam stripped away the clothes he'd found in the closet of the guest bedroom. He left them in a heap on the floor and began to change. It was a particularly difficult maneuver, what with the almost dying by gunshot and the vampire blood now coursing through his veins like an intruding cavalry. Still, the transformation was familiar, and the four-legged shape that was his signature was welcoming. The collie, affectionately named Dean by an unsuspecting Sookie, darted down the hallway to Eric's bedroom. He pawed at the door, echoing his movements with a low whine, until it opened. Pam looked down at him, her irises calm but still confused with emotions that seemed inexpressible. He squirmed past her and hopped up onto the bed, curling up at her feet like a guard. Pam shut the door silently. She resumed her seat in a straight backed wooden chair in the corner. Her eyes stared straight ahead, and she fell back into the waking coma of the living dead.

***

Madden chuckled, his thick brown eyes almost glowing in the inky blackness of the basement. I yanked on a bald lightbulb hanging from a wire in the ceiling. A shard of light split the sticky air between us. I expected him to speak, to taunt me like a coward, to try and distract me. Victor, though, was a surprising character. He seemed to have accepted his fate, perhaps expecting that I would simply stake him or sever his neck from his body. What a fool. What a stupid, stupid fool.

"I will make sure that the King hears about your death, Victor. He will know exactly why you have died and how I have killed you, in minute, explicit detail."

"He will have your head on a plate, Viking. I am the King's most trusted advisor." Madden spat.

"You're his lap dog, nothing more than a puppet. You won't be missed."

"Regardless of my fate, Northman, the damage is already done. It's so sad, really, to see a vampire of your caliber seduced by a pathetic human woman. She isn't even that talented in the sack."

Rage boiled in my blood, but with effort, I remained icily calm. Victor Madden would die slowly. I wouldn't give him the pleasure of a swift and merciful execution.

"You have not defeated her. You have no idea of what that woman is capable." I hissed.

"You're so far removed from the human condition, Northman. You have no conception of what rape does to the psyche of a woman. Long after you kill me, I will haunt her. I will rule her. She'll never share your bed again."

"Enough," I spat.

From the pocket of my jeans, I removed a black-handled pocket knife. The blade clicked into place as I snapped my hand out and pulled Madden's savage tongue between his curling lips. The organ would grow back, but the process would be painful and slow, just as his death would be. His scream was strangled and blood showered his face and my hands. I dropped the wagging part on the floor and ground it into the cement with the heel of my shoe.

"You think anyone will remember you, Madden? Not even de Castro will remember you."

In my time upon the Earth, I've witnessed many deaths, and been part of more than half of them. I am capable of sadistic cruelty, mayhem, and destruction, and there was a time in my younger days when I took a certain joy in being a plague upon the human race. I have employed some of the most memorable methods of torture, but when it came to selecting a death for Victor Madden, only the most relished sadism would do. The method was called the Death of a Thousand Cuts. If it is done in the proper way, it can make a vampire suffer cruelly without passing into oblivion. After all, while vampires heal fairly quickly, a cut of tissue and skin is still painful. And if I happened to remove a few vital body parts along the way? Well, so much the better.


	9. Chapter 9

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 9_

The knife sank into his flesh, leaving a streak of watery blood in its wake. I cut just deep enough to make him writhe against the restraints of silver and steel. His mouth, stained red with the drying remains of his bloody scream, contorted in pain. Madden groaned pathetically when I raised the weapon to the thin skin stretched across his collarbone. Blood cells ripped open under my hand, spilling from an open wound.

His pain should have excited m, should have entertained me in some depraved but glorious way. Pain brought with it some sort of divine happiness, a happiness that is often denied the immortal. With all that I have seen, all that I have done, few things are a surprise. Few things are a joy to behold. But pain, pain is so superbly individualistic, so remarkable in its undertaking as to resist characteristics or obvious behaviors. Few situations yield such a variable result as torture. And yet, all I felt when confronted with Victor Madden's thrashing, whimpering agony was a renewed sense of hatred, anger, and helpless frustration. In place of the bloodlust so commonly felt by the vampire, there lay rage. The rage boiled my insides and set my soul on fire.

Gods, I wanted him to suffer. I had chosen to torture him, to watch him waste away, to see that he pay for all he had done. I'd chosen this pace specifically. I'd wanted to see the damage in his filthy brown eyes. Unfortunately, though, the longer I spent with Madden, the less inclined I was to continue. Each cut brought more pain to me, the executioner, than it could possibly have brought to the condemned. I lifted the knife again, only to find it heavier, colder.

_She's stirring_, Pam murmured into my thoughts, breaking me away from the task. I could feel her pushing on my brain, tugging me back to her bedside, pleading with me for help. There was a time when I would have cast her aside for more important duties, but now, she dragged me in. Her throaty whimpering tugged at my heart, and I yearned for her.

"You'll die," I grunted at Victor as I closed the knife and placed it in the pocket of my jeans. "No matter the method, you will die."

Bill Compton met me at the top of the stairs, his hands frozen around a steaming mug of hot black tea. His dark brown irises were lit with tears not shed, and his sallow skin seemed to glow white, as though there were lights shining from beneath it. For a moment, I studied the sad and determined face of Bill Compton. This man, on more than one occasion, had killed for Sookie Stackhouse. Whether or not he'd taken satisfaction from either event was beyond me, but Bill Compton had been perfectly capable of using his anger to enact revenge. Of course, Bill was still a young vampire, hardly schooled in the ways of immortality and certainly more capable of at least touching upon the emotions that made him human. If I were a different man, a humble man, I might ask him how satiated he felt after releasing his rage upon his victims. Now, I could only lose myself in thought.

"I need to see her." Bill said abruptly. It was true that Bill still loved Sookie, more deeply than he realized. Of course, it was also true that Bill had betrayed her, lied to her, and hurt her. She could barely look at him before I sensed the tender angst build up in her, ready to escape from every pore like steam in a pressure cooker. To have him see her now would only lead to further pain, and it already pained me to see her so broken.

"No." I spoke firmly.

"I will wait. I need to see her, to apologize. I couldn't get to her in time." Bill shivered.

"Go home, William."

"Eric…" Bill choked.

"Go." I grunted firmly, commanding him as his superior. No matter the strength of his resolve, Bill could not disregard an order. The hierarchy of the vampire world is ingrained within us. He turned, still holding the tea in his hands, and walked to the door. The night was still young, and Bill Compton faced a long walk back to Bon Temps.

***

I could hear her through the mattress, my snout lying still upon the sheets. It reminded me instantly of the scene in _Jaws_, when the shark is about to attack and the music begins pumping the viewer with adrenaline. Her heart thumped erratically in her chest, drumming my ears and cracking me over the skull. I sat up, flicking my eyes to Pam. Vampires seem oddly attuned to the beating of the heart, so she stared as well, her eyes shaded and watchful.

Sookie hadn't even woken. Whatever was going on inside her head made the beating louder, more ferocious. There was a strange stillness in the air, and the fur of the back of my neck rose up in peaks and spikes. Sweat beaded on her brow, along the soft blond hairline. It pooled from her open pores and drenched her pale skin.

She sat up so suddenly that I rolled backward, smacking my hip on the bedpost. Her screams filled the room like ghosts and shadows. I hid under my paws and tried to block out the inhuman sound of her. Beside us, the bedroom door flew open and Eric Northman tore into the room, a demon with fangs drawn.

***

His sudden entrance only served to increase the volume of her screaming. It would have been the perfect opportunity to make a joke, a crack about her lung capacity or the shape of her mouth. Instead, I stared with a pain in my heart that seemed as though it might burst from me in a very similar way. How long had it been since I had thought of Mister James Porter, the man who stole away my maidenhood? I'd seen to him, seen that he suffered as I had suffered. But now he was dead, long ago the victim of earthworms and cockroaches. Here I remained, still suffering, long after his suffering had come to a close.

***

"Sookie!" I growled, shaking her by the shoulders as if the action would rattle her demons away. No such luck. She could not even see me, comprehend me. Her eyes stared vacantly at me, veiled white like an old woman's cataracts. Her trembling hands shot up to claw at her throat, her flesh still marked with bruises. The screams of terror cut off to violent coughs, strangled noises that tore up her lungs.

Spittle splashed onto her lower lip, hacked up from deep within her. She tried screaming again, and I watched her struggle to breathe and cry. Instead, there came only the choked sounds of a breathless victim. I held her face, pushed away the strands of damp blond hair that fell around her eyes. Sweat poured from her, mixing with tears dribbling from her ghostly eyes.

"Sookie! Lover, look at me!" I yelled at her.

Her guts cramped and as soon as I had her turned, she vomited upon the floor. Green slime, water, and a few specks of blood burst from her lips and onto the hardwood planks beneath my bed. A second wave of gastric juices followed the first, splattering the wall with flecks of bile mixed in. Sookie heaved a third time, bringing up nothing. Her muscles flinched in spasm. She shuddered in my hands and finally lifted her head to engage me. Blood vessels had burst around her eyes from the force of her purge, and halos of bright red encircled her watery blue irises. She blinked slowly, unsteadily.

"Don't let me sleep again," she groaned hoarsely.

***

Three hours later, after Sookie had fallen asleep again in my arms, I walked silently back down to the basement. At Madden's feet, I dropped the pocket knife. It clattered to the floor, abandoned. Fuck the slow and painful shit. Madden didn't deserve suffering, not the way Sookie suffered, not the way she struggled to hang onto her sanity.

"You'll never suffer enough to repent," I scowled, maintaining a smooth coldness in my voice despite the inner desire to rage like a tornado and scream like a banshee. "It is better that we do this now."

I reached into him, stabbing his chest with outstretched fingers. Blood spat and splattered, painting my clothes, the walls, the floor. His scream might have curdled the blood of a human, but I let it wash over me like a swaddling cloth. His dead heart snapped free of empty veins and spilled into my hand. He squirmed and fought me, not near enough to death to be impeded by it. His insides already coating my arms up to the elbow, I wrung his neck with both hands, squeezing. After a minute of pressure, the head popped free of his throat. More blood. More sinew. More matter. His body shriveled, freed of the organ that kept it alive.

"I'll keep this for de Castro. Perhaps he can fashion it into a candy dish."


	10. Chapter 10

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 10_

With a towel wrapped snuggly around my chest, I stepped into the bathroom that adjoined Eric's bedroom. Yellow light played on the pretty ivory tiles, giving the room a golden hue. The sound of running water echoed in my ears, pushing out every other thought. If only I could figure out how to concentrate this way all the time. I couldn't think about anything else, nothing but the violently rushing water. Sam Merlotte stood on four legs beside me, his hot fur pressed comfortingly against my knee. Like Eric, Sam had remained close when I needed him, always in a form that was innocent and affectionate, non-judgmental and compassionate. I couldn't find it in my soul to cast him away when I was angry or sad or pent up with frenzied nightmares. He remained with me when Eric could not, and because I was not ready to be alone, their partnership of protection was welcome.

The bedroom door opened quietly and I turned to see him standing there. I didn't question the blood on his hands, his arms, his shirt. Some part of me knew that whatever he'd been doing, it had been for my protection. I didn't want to know the details. Sam stepped out of the way as if moved by instinct, reflex. Eric took his place. He bent down, loose hair falling around his face, and lightly kissed my forehead. I froze in place, though I couldn't say why. The kiss wasn't comforting, wasn't enjoyed or even desired. He might have sighed, might have shown me his frustration or impatience, but he did neither.

The water smelled like lavender and chamomile.

_Relax_, his body seemed to say to me. I hadn't felt the bond in two days, but it wasn't the bond I was feeling. He seemed to be speaking into my soul, massaging my broken heart. _Relax. I'm here._

He shut the door and took the towel as it fell from my skin.

Dried rose petals and sprigs of lavender floated on the surface of the water. I slid in one bruised leg and then the other. I sank beneath the stillness like a river stone. Tired of fighting, tired of bravery, I wept. And I wasn't alone. Eric knelt beside the tub, and his bloody arms embraced me. I huddled in the dark folds of his shirt. I stained the cloth with my fear and my hatred and my deep sense of loss. _It's okay to hide. I will protect you. _

The smell of herbs made me heavy, and my eyes began to droop. I'd been sleeping forever, but for one moment, this moment, I wasn't afraid to sleep. I was safe here. I could finally relax.

The demon was dead. I could finally heal.

***

"Will you take me home?" Sookie whispered groggily when I finally retrieved her from the warm water. Chamomile-scented droplets tapped the floor tiles when they fell. Every sound drummed my ears, an unsteady heartbeat.

"Sookie," I frowned as I wrapped her up in a white towel. "I can't stay with you there."

"I need to go home. I need to be with Amelia. I need to talk to Gran." She closed her eyes as the last words passed from her lips. She spoke to the gravestone as if it were a living person. She paused a moment and looked up at me with glittering blue eyes, solid with sleepy but no less convicted determination. "I need to get on with my life."

"I'll take you," I agreed, reluctantly. She closed her eyes then, drifting at once into the meditative state she'd assumed in the bath. On the mattress, between layers of blankets and sheets, she passed from meditation into deep sleep.

Sam hopped up onto the bed and curled up at her feet. I took my own place beside her, an arm wrapped tenderly around her waist, my cheek pillowed by her tangled golden curls. Madden was dead, his body reduced to sticky red muck, a fossilized heart, and a disembodied head, but it wasn't the man that endangered her. It was her memory, the physical and emotional pain that would pull at her soul. Nothing I could do would protect her from it.

Nothing but my presence could reassure her.

***

So this was what a vampire heart looked like: a frozen stone, an organ fossilized and petrified by time. Victor Madden wasn't even that old, as far as I knew. He'd lived long enough to fuck up his entire existence, to go out with a bang and a scream but have no real lasting impact. Well, at least no lasting impact that anyone with half a brain would ever discuss. I rolled the rock over and over in the palm of my hand. It was icy cold, but bereft of all the essence usually found in a stone.

I dropped it through the eye socket of the cleaned skull and closed the lid of the box. It would go out with the morning mail and land on the desk of Felipe de Castro. I tried to imagine his face, his shock, his anger. I opened the box again and dropped a small folded note inside.

Perfect.


	11. Chapter 11

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 11_

"What is this?" Felipe de Castro growled, staring at the contents of a small box mailed overnight from Shreveport, Louisianan.

"It looks like a skull, Sir," his assistant frowned. She had curled black hair and a sallow complexion, as though trying to look more like a vampire. Her garish red lipstick was smeared around her face like a clown's mask.

"Thank you, Louise. I can see that. What I want to know is why Eric Northman sent me a skull in a box."

"It doesn't look like his handwriting," Louise murmured, taking the note from de Castro's desk. She turned it over and over in her hands. Louise handled the majority of the King's correspondence. Letters of state went out to all the sheriffs in de Castro's wide territory, and they all required direct, hand-written response. But this note, this note had a feminine touch that removed Eric Northman from the list of possible writers.

"Did you read the note, Sir?" Louise cocked her head to one side. She placed the small square of white paper in front of him.

"Read it," de Castro grunted.

"It's the skull of Victor Madden, Sir. Oh," she looked at the box and carefully lifted the head. A small black rock rolled out of it and rattled onto the desk. "And his heart."

"Get Northman on the phone," de Castro roared. "Now!"

***

"Are you sure you want to do this, Sookie? You may stay here as long as you like," Eric sighed, touching my shoulder carefully. Sam sat near my feet, his pretty blue eyes gazing up at me. He licked his nose thoughtfully.

"I'm sure," I nodded. "I need to go home. I can't live here forever, trapped here like some kind of…of…" I wanted to say 'victim,' but it sounded wrong. I wasn't a victim! I was Sookie Stackhouse, vampire lover, telepath, waitress. I wasn't Sookie Stackhouse, rape victim. Even though I hadn't said it out loud, the word tasted like acid on my tongue.

"Sookie, I…" Eric started. He was quickly interrupted by the persistent ring of his cellular phone. He averted his eyes toward his pocket but ignored it.

"Your phone is ringing," I said flatly.

"If it is important, they will leave a message."

"Yeah, I guess," I nodded. "Anyway, if we go back tonight, I can be at work tomorrow."

At my feet, Sam the dog barked. It didn't sound like a happy, Sookie is going back to work bark. It sounded like an unhappy, oh no you cannot bark. I opened the front door and stared at Eric's car, sitting at the curb. He drove a pristine black Camaro with a shiny coal stripe over the matte black body. It was an Eric sort of vehicle in every way, sleek and smooth and glossy and dark, full of mischief and yet painfully honest. My eyes rolled slowly to the back of the vehicle, the trunk. A shiver rolled through my skin, rendering me immobile.

"Sookie," Eric whispered near my ear. "What is it?"

"The trunk," I replied, my voice quavering. He'd put me in a trunk just like that one, trapped me without windows or doors, driven me away from everything I'd ever known, given me a new and horrible perspective. Tears rolled down my cheeks before I even realized I needed to cry. My knees wobbled. I remembered things I'd been trying to forget.

"It's okay, my love. You're safe. I'll keep you safe," Eric soothed. His hand touched mine and I flinched. I forgot how to breathe, and when my body needed me to remember, I started hyperventilating. Sam's nose rubbed against my wrist.

"The trunk, I can't…" I whimpered, fumbling over words. "I can't…"

"Ssh," Eric whispered. He walked quickly to the trunk and put his key in the lock. I froze on the spot, Sam near my ankle, and shook. Eric unlocked and popped open the trunk. He searched around the spare tire, the extra gas can, and the blanket. Then he held his hand out to me.

"It's empty, Sookie," he assured me. I couldn't take his hand, couldn't will my legs to move. "Come see."

"No,"

"Trust me, Sookie," he said calmly. "It's empty."

"I'm scared," I admitted carefully. It felt like I was still in there, still trapped. My skin was hot and clammy to the touch, and my heart beat so heavily that my head hurt to hear it. I wanted to trust him, to believe him, but I was still in there, still a victim of Victor Madden.

"Don't be afraid," Eric murmured, close to me. He was beside me, his hands on my shoulders, his lips near my ear. He guided me to the trunk, held my hand firmly. We stood behind the car for several minutes while I looked inside the cavity, empty and black.

***

My pocket buzzed and began to ring a second time. I hissed under my breath, low enough to avoid spooking Sookie. She finally relaxed enough to move away from the trunk. I closed it carefully and went around front to help her into the car. Sam crawled into the backseat and stretched out on the leather. He was a comfort to her, a companion when I couldn't be. There was no way in Hell I'd let a collie in my car for any other reason. I buckled her in and went around to the driver's side. The phone beeped impatiently.

"Why don't you just answer it?" Sookie asked. She was staring vacantly out the front window, her hands clutching the folds of a long skirt Pam had selected from her own wardrobe. Her knuckles were white.

"You are my only concern, Sookie. Everyone else can wait until I am ready to speak to them."

She nodded, perhaps lost in her own thoughts. Her body screamed agony at me, as though she were being stabbed from afar by a magician with a voodoo doll. On the surface, she looked ghostly white but otherwise fine. She still had bruises on her neck, but they were hidden by her freely flowing yellow gold hair. The bruises on her arms and legs were covered by Pam's skirt and a long sleeved sweater. To the outside observer, she was simply Sookie Stackhouse, waitress. On the inside, she was in peril.

"I'm hungry," Sookie murmured as we got onto the highway toward Bon Temps. I stared at her, taking my eyes off the dark road. In two days, Sookie hadn't eaten so much as a cracker. She'd barely taken drinks of water. Everything made her nauseous, and it was physically painful to listen to her guts gurgle for want of food. I'd tried to encourage her, tried to force feed her, but she would have none of it.

"What would you like?" I asked, trying to seem unexcited.

"Pie," she replied succinctly. In the backseat, Sam sat up. He wanted pie as well.

"There's a diner up ahead. We'll pull over."

Two miles up the road, I turned off the interstate and pulled into the busy parking lot of an all-night diner. It was in the middle of nowhere, a truck stop most likely. This would be one of those gristly, greasy places that served fried alligator and candy bars dipped in frying oil. The smell of these places, in all their disgusting, lard-dipped decadence, made me sick. Still, they were guaranteed to have pie, the Southern dessert staple.

"Do you want to come in, Sookie?" I asked gently, looking at the gathering of flannel-wearing truckers littering the fluorescent dining hall. Most of them had not seen a woman that was not a lot lizard or a waitress in several months, if ever. I couldn't imagine Sookie's telepathic brain on overdrive, their heartless eyes watching her every step.

"No," she shook her head. She was watching them too, and it made her skin crawl and her heartbeat quicken.

"What kind of pie would you like, my love?" I asked, pulling my billfold from my back pocket.

"Pecan," she nodded quietly. She felt nostalgic, sad. I nodded, trying to appear softer to her, as though I could understand the loss of her family. I didn't have to read her mind to know that she missed the ones she'd lost.

"Wait here, with Sam," I nodded to the dog in the back. "I'll return soon."

***

I watched him crunch across the gravel. He dug his cellular phone from his pocket as he went. The screen door of the old diner smacked the door frame behind him. I sighed and looked out the window. Beside me, Sam Merlotte crawled into the front seat. He kept his ears up, listening, but lay down on the soft leather bucket seat. His muzzle rested over my hand.

I looked out the window, watched the moonlight bounce off the hoods of foreign vehicles. Most of them were beat up out here, off the beaten path, outside of Shreveport. In Louisiana, movement between big cities was reserved for vagrants, truckers, and the homeless. At this rest stop, they seemed to attract truckers first and vagrant women second. I could see them inside the diner, sitting at booths in groups of three and four, trying to catch the eyes of passing truck drivers. I felt sick.

Was that what I looked like to Victor Madden? Was I no more than a cheap fang-banging slut to him?

The few spare trees in the parking lot shivered in a breeze sweeping up from the South. Were Madden's henchmen out there, watching me? Were they waiting to steal me away again, to capture me and drag me back to Fangtasia? Would they attack me right here on the gravel, under the hazy light of a security lamp?

Sam nudged my hand and I screamed.

The sound barely had a chance to ricochet around the car before Eric was yanking the door open, pie in hand, his hair falling around his face in disarray.

"What is it, Sookie? What's wrong?" If he could have breathed, he'd have been panting.

"I was just…nothing," I lied.

"Sookie," he frowned, getting into the car. Sam hopped to the backseat before the Viking could slump behind the wheel. "It is okay to be afraid."

"I'm not so hungry anymore," I frowned, looking at the Styrofoam container that held a sweetly scented slice of pecan pie.

"That's fine. You have an icebox at home. We will make use of it." He paused and placed the pie in the backseat, on the floor. After closing the car door, he stretched out an arm to me. I stared at it cautiously and finally submitted.

I want to say it was warm in his embrace, but it wasn't. He was cold, like a breezy December night. I hid there anyway, trying to keep away from the garish shadows of the gravel lot.

"Ask me to take you back to Shreveport," Eric whispered. Had he intended to speak to me, or was it something he had only been thinking? I couldn't tell.

"I'll feel safe in my own home, Eric. I know I will."

"I do not want to leave you alone."

It took a long while to get back to the farmhouse, nestled alongside the cemetery in Bon Temps. I gazed up at the big white house, and saw Amelia standing on the back porch. Jason sat on the swing, his arms over his chest. What was he doing here? I couldn't face my brother and Amelia too, and I suddenly wanted to go racing back to Shreveport. There, I wouldn't have to deal with thoughts, unspoken and spoken, invading my already aching brain. Eric's constant worrying I could do, but this? Gotta be strong, Sookie. You can do this. Gran needs you. Heck, you need Gran.

"Can you stay the night?" I asked the Viking. I kept my eyes on the floor of the car, but I wasn't sure where the shame was coming from.

"You could not get rid of me if you tried, Sookie."


	12. Chapter 12

From the Waist Down

Chapter 12

The sounds of the night were deafening, invading my thoughts from every cardinal point. I twisted my neck around, trying to get my bearings. What did they tell you in those movies about survivalists? What had Bear Grylls always suggested? Look for the North Star. Which one is the North Star? I looked up, holding my position in the mire. Someone had turned out the lights. The sky was as black as the rotting compost beneath me. In every direction, black pitch. Tar. Swamp. I took another step forward, a sluggish movement that splashed and sucked on my tacky, sweating skin. The water, inky black and stinking, speckled the deep red shirt I'd worn to work. My neck itched, and I scratched it without thinking, pulling back my hand to look at the deep pits of dark red blood under my fingernails.

Claws of mud snatched at my legs, yanking me so forcefully into the depths that my screams were muffled by my own shock. The chorus of amphibian voices rose up to drown me out, and muscular ribbons of rat snakes wrapped luxuriously around my throat, choking out the last of my cries. Anxious to breathe, I wrestled with their armored skins, but drew back more of my own flesh, more damage to my own wound. No!, I gasped pathetically. Don't do this! Throaty cackling, as old and dripping as the swamp itself, rose up from beneath me.

_When this night is over, you'll beg to be mine. You'll beg for it. _

Deeper and deeper, those cold, greasy fingers pulled me under. Beneath the mud, my skin cringed and stung. Insects nest beneath the surface, living between the tentacles of stinging plants. I fought with the rising tide, splashing at the water, clawing at the mud with curled fingers. Each squirm yanked me deeper. Each escape brought me closer to his waiting jaws. I couldn't scream, couldn't beg for mercy, couldn't escape. Doomed.

_Please, please don't do this. Please. _

I sank. As though stones were tied around my ankles, I sank deeper beneath the surface, until only my chin bobbed on the surface of the water. Fangs brushed against my legs like knives slicing fresh meat. Slime and sinew wiggled against my arms and legs while the chorus of frogs rose higher and higher. Copperheads and water moccasins hissed in my ears and tugged at my broken skin, dripping venom into my open wounds.

It seeped into my mouth and filled my nostrils before I could take one last breath of the putrid night air. Choking, gagging on mud and muck, rotting waste and decomposing flesh, I did not consider screaming. My time was over, the fight lost. It was time to succumb, time to admit defeat. Time to die. No one is coming for you, Sookie. No one is here to rescue you, to take you away, to free you. The worms crawl in and the worms crawl out.

_Please, please just kill me. _

He laughed and the mud bubbled and spat like ancient pits of steaming tar. "I told you, Sookie. I told you you'd be begging me."

I can taste the earth, the black soup of death.

Sunlight bled into the room, staining every surface brilliant white. Where the sheets weren't tangled around my legs like the grayish arms of my attacker, I stripped the blankets from the bed. Nothing. No one. Hadn't he promised to stay with me? Was this all just a dream? Was I really still with Victor? Eric? ERIC?

* * *

Jason sat at the kitchen table, looking down into the bowl of rapidly wilting cornflakes he'd poured himself for breakfast. Usually, when he came by the house, someone took enough pity on his lack of culinary expertise to make him breakfast. Eggs. Pancakes. Something more interesting that reconstituted cornstarch. He pushed the bowl away despite the groaning of his insides. The spoon clattered uselessly against the bowl. But still, his insides growled for sustenance. Jason reached toward the bowl again, reluctantly but determined, when the room seemed to shake. The scream pierced his ear drums so suddenly that he could swear they were bleeding.

He grabbed the rifle sitting beside his chair and shoved back the kitchen chair. It clattered to the floor behind him as he raced through the house to the bedroom, Gran's bedroom. He didn't bother to use the knob on the door. Heaving his shoulder against the door, he practically fell into the room, gun in hand, pointed and cocked. His breath came with surprising ease, and he could swear that his eyes were glowing yellow.

* * *

Beneath the floorboards, in the crawl space under Sookie's old closet, Eric's eyes burst open despite the hour of the day. Though his heart hadn't emitted a beat in ten centuries, he could hear the trembling sound of random palpitations pumping through his body. It was day, morning, and many hours until he could burst from his subterranean cocoon. Growling, he pounded at the earthy walls with his fists. Still, her heart beat crashed, her blood pressure skyrocketed, her mind flew in a thousand directions.

"Sookie!" Eric yowled beneath the floor. "Sookie!"

* * *

"Sook? What is it?" I choked, my voice somewhere between growling panther and normal. I pointed the rifle around the room, looking down over the barrel like a prowling hunter.

"Jason…" Sookie whimpered, barely acknowledging me. She was propped up on the bed, the sheets tangled around her legs like tentacles. She was pretty shaken up, poor kid.

"Oh…oh…" I muttered, trying to think of something better to say. The gun faltered in my hands. Duh, idiot. Nightmare. Eric said she'd have them. Damn vampires.

The door swung again on its hinges and Amelia stumbled in. What had taken her so long? Damn, what a body. Too bad she's some kind of weird witchy person. She was wearing a pink robe, fuzzy like a teddy bear, and she was carrying one of Gran's cast iron pans in her hands. Her eyes were purple and crackling like one of those electric taser guns.

"Jason! Put that down!" She snapped at me. I almost dropped the gun, pretty much forgetting I'd ever had it to start with.

"I thought there was an intruder," I argued, lamely.

"She had a nightmare. Go make some coffee."

"How…how do you know?" Girls. They think they know everything.

"I just do! Go!"

"Yeah," I frowned. "Yeah. Okay."

Except, you know, I don't know how to make coffee.


	13. Chapter 13

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 13_

Coffee percolated slowly through the filter, and the sound of dripping gave me a sound with which to focus my thoughts. Jason and Amelia buzzed around the kitchen like angry bees, pushing past one another to collect pollen for the hive. Their thoughts went in every direction, stabbing at me from all sides. My head pounded. Just focus, I thought. Focus on the coffee. Drip, rumble, drip. Victor's slippery voice wiggled between my ears, clogging up the tiny space left among Jason, Amelia, and the percolator. _You're mine now. _

A spoon clattered to the floor when I accidentally slammed my hand against it. The thoughts stopped, just for a moment, to assess my movement. Amelia pounced first, but Jason was right behind her, scooping homemade, sloppy pancakes onto a plate.

"What's wrong, hon?" Amelia asked, treating me like a piece of china that she'd glued back together with Elmer's.

"I…" I stammered. I couldn't collect my own thoughts. I couldn't say a word, not even if I'd wanted to speak. Something had me by the throat, and it was squeezing.

"Here, sis," Jason frowned, pushing the plate of pancakes in front of me. They were already dripping with butter and syrup. My stomach clenched looking at them.

"I can't," I breathed hoarsely. For the second time that morning, the kitchen chair tumbled to the floor with a screech. Their thoughts followed me like ghosts as I ran down the hallway, through the bedroom, and into the bathroom.

_What can we do for her? Is she going to be okay? That bastard, if he wasn't already dead I'd kill him! Why'd she ever get mixed up with those demon assholes anyway? Oh God, poor Sookie. Maybe she needs to talk about it. I should talk to her. I'm gonna kill him! Stake him! Chop off his head! _

The water from the shower drowned them all out, every last voice like a fire engine in my brain. The water was cold, and though I wore a pair of sweats and a long sleeve thermal, it didn't keep the cold out. I shivered under the stream, my tears blending in. Without their thoughts, the thoughts of my friends, my family, all I could hear was Victor.

_No one is coming for you, Sookie._

_

* * *

_

"How is she?" I asked as soon as the door creaked open. Jason was standing there, his hand wrapped around a classic Winchester rifle, as though the vampire brigade was waiting on his doorstep. Jason Stackhouse was never going to win an award for brother of the year, but he had Sook's interests at heart. It was a start, anyway.

"She barricaded herself in the bathroom," Amelia frowned. She held a cup of coffee in her hand, but it had gone cold.

"How long as she been in there?" I pushed past Jason and walked inside, throwing the door closed behind me. Amelia looked at the clock on the mantel over the fireplace.

"A few hours,"

"Have you checked on her?" I demanded, my voice rising to a higher note. I ran down the hall and pushed open the bedroom door with my foot. Jumping around the bed, the sheets in disarray, I slammed my fist against the bathroom door. It was locked, but I could hear the shower going.

"Sookie!" I yelled. "It's Sam. I'm coming in, Sook."

On the other side of the door, I could only hear the shower. If she was really in the shower, this was going to be bad. I waved to Amelia, standing nervously on the other side of Sookie's bed. She hurried over, her eyes slightly bowed. Was she scared? Nervous?

"Sookie? It's Amelia. Can you let us in, hon?"

"We don't have time for this. Look, as soon as I get this open, you make sure she's…you know, decent."

"Yeah," Amelia frowned. "Okay."

It took a couple of tries with my shoulder up against the door, but I finally managed to pop the lock and burst in. I couldn't help but see her, try as I might to maintain her dignity. It didn't matter. She was fully clothed, barely responsive to my entrance. She didn't even look up. She sat in the tub under the shower head, shivering, her lips almost blue. I looked back at Amelia, but she was already grabbing towels and a robe from the linen closet.

"It's okay, Chere," I murmured, turning off the faucet and lifting her up out of the tub.

"No one's coming," she replied through chattering teeth.

"I'm here, Sookie," I sighed, pulling her into the bedroom so Amelia could get her wet clothes off.

* * *

"She can't be left alone," Sam frowned, talking over her head as I pulled off her soaking shirt. I'd seen Sookie come out of a few supernatural fights and things, but I'd never seen her look so defeated. Her skin was icy cold, as pale as the Viking's, and covered with bruises. I pulled her hair off her neck to put it into a towel, and could barely hold in the sound that threatened to slip out of my mouth. Shock, that's what it was. Pure shock. She had this gouging wound in her neck, like someone had tried to rip her a new air hole.

"We had her in the kitchen, but she bolted." I argued, looking over her forehead at Sam. He'd bought some blackout curtains and was getting ready to string them up on the plastic rods over the windows.

"Shit," I hissed, realization occurring like a lightning bolt hitting the earth. "I bet we were thinking too loud. Probably just making it worse."

"You can't help it, she knows that," Sam sighed, looking at me. He pushed a curtain down its rod and hung it back up.

"But even when she's feeling tip top, I give her migraines. Good job, Amelia. Way to go."

"Hey," Sam sighed. He'd moved on to another window, but already the room seemed darker. "Don't blame yourself. Hell, if you want to blame someone, blame me."

"No, Sam," I argued. We'd had the big sit-down last night, after Sookie fell asleep. Eric Northman, Sam, Bill, me and Jason. I didn't want to know the gory details, but they told us as much as they knew. I felt so sick after that I puked up the bagel I'd eaten to settle my stomach.

"Couldn't get to her," he whispered. He spoke to the wall, not to me, but I could still faintly hear him.

"You tried, Sam! You got shot!"

"I'd die for her," he admitted quietly.

"You almost did!" I shot back. "I'm not sure that either thing is better. Losing your friend or losing…"

"Neither one," Sookie croaked beneath me. She hadn't said anything at all since we'd pulled her out of the bathroom, and at first I wasn't sure she'd spoken at all. She looked comatose with her vacant, staring eyes and her purplish lips and her rigid fingers. She didn't say anything else, but she looked at Sam for a long time. It was Sam that turned away, his attention reverting to the curtains, which he finished putting up in record time. The sun wouldn't rise again in Sook's east-facing bedroom for awhile. It was so black in there, we had to turn on the light.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in near silence. Jason reluctantly left for work and Amelia ordered pizza at four in the afternoon. We sat and picked at the pizza toppings while Sookie stared vacantly at a glass of orange juice. I wondered if, if she stared at it long enough, she'd find peace swimming around the glass. As the last rays of sunlight blended with the purple and red clouds of sunset, the closet door in Sookie's old bedroom clattered open. Eric swept from the room and was upon us in seconds, his fangs out and his face ghastly white.

"Sookie," he faltered, seeing her sitting at the table, unharmed. Amelia and I had put her in flannel pajamas after she'd finally thawed out. She'd have looked cozy, like a child in onesies, if she didn't look so dead.

"I'm okay," she said, rather unconvincingly.

"No, my love," Eric frowned, dropping to his knees in front of her. He looked up at her tragic face, and though I never liked the guy, I could see all the pain I felt in his eyes. "You're not."

"We should not have brought her back here," Eric sighed, looking over my head at Sam. They didn't act like I could hear them, but that was fine. If they pretended I wasn't here, I could stay out of the conversation. My throat was clamped shut anyway. Every urge to speak was easily suppressed. It was too hard.

"She wanted to come home," Sam frowned. He was plugging the television into the wall. Eric arranged the blankets around me and crawled into the bed beside me.

"She doesn't feel safe here," the Viking replied. He put his arm around me and for a moment, I froze. His hand stopped, aware of my body language. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

"With the blackout, you should be able to sleep beside her. No sunlight. That'll help."

"Yes," Eric nodded. "Thank you."

"I wish I could do more for her. Hell, I wish…" Sam started, but stopped. "Doesn't matter. All I want is for her to…"

"She will."

"If you need anything, Cherie," Sam sighed, looking at me. His voice seemed broken. Heck, he seemed broken. "You call me, okay? Doesn't matter when."

* * *

"I could hear you scream," Eric admitted as soon as Sam left. "I'm sorry I couldn't get to you."

"It was just a nightmare," I said quietly, pushing the memories of the swamp away. They kept creeping back, like water collecting in a puddle.

"I'm bonded to you, Sookie, as you are bonded to me. I can feel you, even when I am sleeping. I could feel your heart pulsing, your blood pressure rising, your fear. You do not have to lie to me. I know you were afraid."

"This is my home, Eric," I squeaked, looking up at his chin with watery eyes. "I don't want to leave it."

"I won't take you away," he soothed. "But…I won't leave you alone either."

On his belt, his cellular phone vibrated. I unclipped it from his belt and looked at the lit screen before he snatched it from my hand and threw it across the room. It shattered, tiny pieces of plastic going every which way. The sound set my body to shivering, which the Viking cured by pulling me against him. He handled me like a porcelain doll, as though he might break me. But see, Eric, I'm already broken. Nothing to worry about.

"If it's important, they'll leave a message," Eric reiterated. He tucked me against his side and pulled the blankets around me like the layers of a womb.


	14. Chapter 14

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 14_

"Has Northman called?" Felipe's voice grumbled through the intercom from his bed chambers to his office. Louise, his evening secretary, scrambled through the papers on his desk for any of those little pink message pads from the daytime secretary. There were none.

"No, my King, he has not." She almost whimpered into the phone, anticipating the response. The box was still sitting on his desk.

"Well, why not?" Felipe screamed through the voice box, thundering with rage. "We have attempted this medieval human correspondence long enough! I want answers! Why is Madden's head sitting in a box on my desk? I want to know WHY!"

"I…uh…" Louise stammered in response.

"Send my guards out to Louisiana! Find the Viking and have him brought here AT ONCE!"

"Y..yes…yes Sir," Louise trembled, already grabbing another phone with which to call Felipe's in-house guard unit.

"And stop bleating like a sheep!"

"Yes my King," Louise managed. Her voice was cut off by the click of the line.

The guards, glorified vampire spies the lot of them, left within the hour, streaming out of the concrete foundations of de Castro's glittering Las Vegas palace like a pestilence. They drove in a massive black Suburban to de Castro's private landing strip, and flew in one of several windowless jets to a private strip just outside of Shreveport. Their leader, a grunting, muscle-bound hulk of a vampire named Steve, piled them into another all black SUV and drove them to Fangtasia, Northman's last known whereabouts.

* * *

The club was in disarray, the smell of human fear having seeped into the walls. Vampires leaked into the building from every available door, including the gaping hole into Eric Northman's office.

"He isn't here," one of them muttered. Captain Obvious was a short, skinny strip of a thing, often picked on by the other guys. He was amazing cat burglar, but they still called him names.

"Thanks, Shorty, for stating the obvious," Steve snorted.

"Look, I'm just sayin'," Shorty whimpered like a kicked cat.

"We know he isn't here. If he was here, he would have returned the King's messages. Anyone got any ideas?"

"What about his underlings? They're loyal to the King, aren't they? We'll sniff him out that way."

"Get his Rolodex. I'll meet you in the car."

* * *

She continued waking randomly, never getting more than a few hours of continuous sleep. As a result, I was forced to spend inordinate amounts of time awake. I found myself more hungry than I had been in years and I actually forced myself to drink the atrocious synthetic blood that has been sitting untouched in Sookie's refrigerator for nearly a year. It smelled like plastic. Still, she was determined to continue her trial of "normal life," however much it seemed to be killing her.

"Eric!" She screamed as she began to struggle on the bed. It was the fourth time that night that she'd been disturbed by the memories of Victor Madden's betrayal. I was standing at the window, looking out past Sam's black-out curtains. In the bushes, I could swear I'd seen something moving, but her cries tore my suspicions away immediately.

"Ssh, Sookie," I whispered as I dropped down to the floor beside her mattress. I threaded my hand into her grasping fingers and tried to calm her while she slept. If I could avoid waking her, I would. Her frail human body, still healing since she refused to take my blood, needed the rest.

"No one's coming," she moaned. "No one's coming."

"I am right here, my love," I frowned. Over and over again, she dreamed of my failure. We could not make it to her in time. She could never forgive us for that.

"Please," she begged. Tears rolled down the sides of her face and stained the pillow. I couldn't watch her suffer in sleep. There was nothing worth that pain. I woke her with a gentle shake of her shoulders. It was all she needed. The touch of another person, even my touch, was enough to send her reeling. Her eyes shot open and she rolled out of my reach.

Panting, she stared at me for several seconds, her posture in high alert. Terrified by the dream, she knelt on all fours on the bed, watching me with wide eyes. Her back curved upward, like the surprised figure of a cat. Her mouth hung open slightly and her lower lip trembled. She would have been beautiful, alluring, if she weren't so scared of me. That might be something I would have wanted in another lover, but not my bonded. Not Sookie. Her heart bounced around in my chest like a rubber ball.

"Relax, lover," I soothed, holding out an open hand to her. The gesture was meant to be peaceful. She looked at my palm like it was covered with thorns.

"E…Eric?" She whimpered pathetically, realization finally dawning.

"You're safe, Sookie. You're home."

"I don't feel safe," she replied quietly. She pulled her body down upon the mattress and scooped her knees up against her chest. I crawled across the space between us and swept her into my embrace.

"It will take time to heal," I sighed, wishing for all the world that it wouldn't. With a finger, I brushed back the hair from her neck and looked at the garish wound at her throat. It would heal before her heart did. Right now, though, her insides resembled that vulgar open sore.

* * *

"Isn't that the King's psychic or whatever?" One of the vampires asked, peering over the hedges into Sookie's open bedroom window.

"Yeah! Northman's supposed to be protecting her for the King."

"Looks like he's doin' a lot more than that," another chortled deeply.

"Is he…uh…hugging her?"

"Look, it don't matter what he's doin'. He's supposed to be returning the King's call, and he ain't. So, I say, we bust in and take 'em down."

"Dude, it's a human house. How the hell are we gonna do that?"

"We're the King's guard!"

"Yeah! But…but so what?"

"I say, we smoke 'em out."

"Ooh, yeah, good idea!"

"That's why I'm the leader and you guys are just the chumps."

"Who the hell are you callin' a chump?"

"Shuddup. Shorty, get the matches."

* * *

A knock on the bedroom door set my teeth on edge, and I found myself clawing at Eric's shirt. He looked up, a few strands of his long hair brushing against my forehead.

"Come in," he grunted. The door opened and there was Amelia, frantic, her thoughts suddenly stabbing my brain with more than I could handle, analyze, or comprehend. Her mouth started moving, and I couldn't even hear the words.

"Eric! Come quick! There's something…there's people outside!"

"Who is it?" Eric growled protectively, pulling me so close to him that I was certain I'd be crushed. My fight or flight instinct started kicking in, but I ignored it. It hadn't helped me much in the past few days anyway.

"I don't know, but I don't think they're friendly."

Amelia disappeared from the bedroom door and Eric reluctantly got up. He looked sorrowfully at me and held out a hand to me. It was clearly the kind of decision he was unsure about, and his internal conscience made me nervous. He didn't want to leave me, and yet, at the same time, I was sure he didn't want to put me in any danger by taking me along. I looked at the palm over and over again, but balled my arms against my chest with reluctance. Could he protect me? Could he keep me safe?

"Stay here, my love," he relented. "I will keep you safe."

"Eric," I mumbled to myself as he walked out of the room and shut the bedroom door. I ran to the window and craned my neck to see the porch. It was partially hidden, but there were definitely people standing on the steps. They wore all black, matching outfits of black pants and black shirt and black shoes. One face turned in my direction and caught my eyes in the window. I stumbled backward, tripping on the hem of my pant leg, and fell to the floor. Vampire.

Not much went through my head. Fear. Shock. I scrambled into the bathroom and threw from the linen closet everything blocking my path. I barricaded myself inside the tiny black room, leaving the light off. Towels gathered around my feet, but there was nothing to use as a weapon. I didn't even have anything silver. I couldn't stop myself from crying, but I held in the heaving sound of my breath. Don't hyperventilate, Sookie. You'll pass out, and then who knows what they'll do to you!

"Sookie!" Eric yelled through the room. I couldn't reply. I couldn't find the words. I shivered inside the closet and tried to talk. All I could do was pant. The closet door opened and I screamed. The Viking didn't blink. Instead, he pulled me roughly into his arms and carried me to the porch. Somewhere, something was breaking. I opened my eyes, which I hadn't realized were closed. Flames licked up the curtains in the living room. Oh god, not again.

"Fire," I squeaked.

"Amelia has alerted the authorities. We are being summoned. I cannot say no."

"My house…" I struggled, finding it difficult to speak.

"It was the King on the phone, I suppose. He did not wish to leave a message." Eric spoke through clenched fangs. I couldn't look up at his face, but I could hear it in his strained voice.

"Eric," I found myself saying again, though I couldn't think of what to say afterward.

"Everything will be okay, my love. I will not let anyone harm you."

But I wasn't so sure.


	15. Chapter 15

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 15_

Eric held me close to his chest. I looked over his shoulder, watching the fire shoot up the walls of the Stackhouse family farmhouse. Amelia was standing on the grass, a few feet away from me, talking on her cell phone. The fire department had already been called, Eric assured me, but I couldn't stop staring in horror. This was the second time my house has been lit on fire. I had a sudden craving for anything with liquor. I didn't want to see this, and I didn't want to experience whatever was going to happen next.

"Get in the car Northman," one of the King's goons growled, showing his bright fangs. Eric was stiff like an iceberg. He didn't move.

"Where are we going?" Eric asked calmly, though I could sense the irritation in him.

"King Felipe de Castro expects you in his office as soon as possible," the vampire replied.

"I have been ordered to protect this human," Eric nodded, indicating me.

"She's coming too." One of the other ones made a move to grab me. I clung to Eric, digging my fingernails into his cool skin. My whole body began to convulse. Absolutely not. No one is going to touch me. No no no no no.

"She is under my protection," Eric scowled, sending the vampire's foreign hands back as if by magic. "I will see to her needs."

"The jet's waiting, Northman. Just get in the car."

They drove well above the speed limit, but we made it to Shreveport in record time. I spent the car ride trying to avoid the stares of the vampires huddled around us on every side. While it was better than riding in the trunk (though, in this car, there was no trunk), I couldn't have felt much more uncomfortable. They were all staring at me, hungrily. My heart beat a million miles a second and though I tried not to fidget or be scared, I wasn't too good at it. Every one of them reminded me of Victor. It didn't help matters any that when we finally arrived at the airstrip, a thin line of silver was flung around Eric's neck.

He yowled in pain while two more of Felipe's goons grabbed me and yanked me out of the car. Screams that didn't sound like my screams burst out of my mouth and nose and ears too probably. Was this happening again? How could this be happening again? Eric? ERIC! Instant fight instinct kicked into gear, the fight instinct I'd wanted to have with Victor and didn't, the one that had failed me. Screaming, kicking, flailing, I fought them. Eric was having issues in the car. They dragged him out of the vehicle in silver chains, his skin healing in places where he'd been scalded. A punch caught me off guard, right across the mouth, and for a second, I was reeling in pain. Then my world went dark.

I woke up some time later, though how much time was a mystery to me. Though I was fairly certain my eyes were open, I couldn't see anything. Black. All around me. Panic immediately set in. I'm in a trunk. It was to be a trunk. Calm down, Sook. Breathe. Do those deep breath things that Eric taught you. Focus. Figure out where you are. So, I started feeling along the wall closest to me. It hit a corner fairly quickly, and maybe three feet later, another corner. A tight, small, black space. And was I moving? It definitely sounded like movement, but somewhat quieter and less rocky than the sort of noise that accompanies car travel. Hadn't we been at the air strip?

Logic dawned so slowly that if I'd been in the right state of mind, I would have questioned my own reasoning powers. I'm in a trunk. On a plane. Start panicking.

* * *

It was embarrassing, really, how easily I had fallen for this. I had expected to be treated with some fashion of dignity. After all, I am a sheriff, loyal to the King (for the most part), and while, yes, I killed Victor Madden and put his head in a box, I am certainly not some sort of vindictive homicidal maniac. At least, I am no more these things than any other respectable vampire. I had resigned myself, however, to my fate. As long as Sookie was safe, and technically, she was as safe as she could be, passed out in a coffin which was locked from the outside, everything would be fine. Her heart beat had settled to a normal ebb and flow of oxygen and blood, and for a split second, I considered forcing her to pass out more often. Her sanity was on edge because of the attack, but the complete lack of sleep hadn't helped her frame of mind.

I considered all the factors until the moment that she awakened, her blood pressure taking a massive spike, and her breath coming in sputtering gasps. She was trying to find a way out. Flashbacks to Bill and Victor sailed through her brain and I caught the feelings associated with both: panic, terror, apprehension, fear. I tried to send my thoughts back to her, through the power of our bond. If, however, our connection during that initial night was any indication, she probably was not feeling me at all. She was too locked up in her own demons to feel me.

I could hear her muffled voice through the strong mahogany case. She banged on the top with her fists, yelling, crying. The human mind is a peculiar thing. Where I feel completely safe in that box, trapped off from the harms of daylight, humans feel only horror when similarly submersed in the black.

I fought in my chains, though there was really no use in doing so. What possessed me to attack when bound in silver was beyond me, beyond comprehension. Still, I struggled. Her safety was more important than my discomfort. The psychological changes I'd succumbed to since bonding myself to her, if not before that, were unfathomable.

"Shut her up!" One of our guards growled, pulling a face of disgust.

"Why can't we just eat her already?" Another one groaned, fiddling with his keys.

"She's the King's property. We can't just eat her."

"Oh yeah," the key-holder frowned. "I forgot."

The lid on the coffin bounced upright as soon as it was unbolted, and Sookie popped free for a moment, spooked. Her face was devoid of color, and her eyes bounced around like bullets off steel walls. She sought me out and I strained for her, but the silver dug down into my skin and I could move no further.

"I said shut her up!" The first vampire stomped across the plane's galley and threw a rock-hard fist into the coffin, connecting with my lover's jaw. It took only a few seconds before she stopped moving. The lid fell shut again and was locked in place.

I couldn't do anything, not now. But as soon as I was free, that bastard would pay. I could bide my time. What was time in a millennium of life?

We set down in Nevada an hour later, and still my lover had not moved. They removed her flopping body from the coffin and I watched as they set her down in the backseat of an all black Suburban with blacked out windows. I was shoved into the car beside her, and had the chance to look her over. They'd bruised her mouth and jar severely, and I found myself growling quietly at their abuse. I leaned over, though it pained me, and kissed her gently on the forehead. She did not move, but her pulse rate seemed to change in my ears. It was definitely a response.

Time passed slowly that night, perhaps to prolong the evening's events. Had I been a younger creature, a younger man, I might have cursed the gods for their cruelty. But it wasn't their fault. We had been dealt a hand of cards, and we could do nothing but play it out. The Suburban drove through the glittered streets of Las Vegas to the Sanguine Hotel and Casino, de Castro's premiere resort for the fanged set. False windows covered the entire wall that opened out onto the strip, and cars of every shape and color decorated the driveway. We drove around to the back and were unceremoniously unloaded into a docking bay.

Sookie was just coming around. I saw her eyes flicker as a guard grabbed her roughly by the arm. My urge to kill rose.

"The King wants to see the girl first," the head goon announced to his cohorts. "Stick Northman in the hold until the King is ready for him."


	16. Chapter 16

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 16_

There was a knock on the door and I looked up from my desk. The box, ominous and perplexing, sat a few feet away from me, perched on the edge of a side table like a forgotten toy. I hadn't forgotten it. Vampire remains don't tend to have a smell, so it was able to stay in the room without becoming a nuisance. I simply had no desire to continue staring at the thing. As soon as this was settled, I would have Louise throw it unceremoniously in the garbage. I had never much cared for Madden. Perhaps it was the fact that his body seemed to leave a residue- a smell or a stain, a grease spot. Revolting. Still, he had been a valuable man. The loss was felt, but in the end, he was replaceable.

"Come in," I said, inviting my guardsmen to throw the human into my presence. They shut the door behind her. I had met Sookie only briefly, and though I was taken with her, particularly her peculiar talent, I was no more amused by humans than any respectable vampire. I'd remembered her somewhat differently from the woman that fell to her knees on my carpet. Was this really Sookie Stackhouse? She looked like something that had been thrown out with the curdled blood.

The girl's hair fell around her face and neck like a bad toupee, disheveled and unkempt. Her face and neck were bruised, and a chunk of flesh had been grotesquely removed from one side of her throat. She wore pajamas, as if she hadn't been bothered to dress for me, and the pajamas were not the sort of variety one should present to a king of my standing. They were blue pants with cartoon sheep drawn on them. I fully believe that if you are going to wear bedclothes to address me, they might as well be something skimpy, preferably lacy.

She sat there on the floor, on her knees, hunched over, for several seconds. She didn't make a sound. Odd. Humans were usually making all kinds of racket, even when it was frowned upon or completely unnecessary. Sookie Stackhouse was definitely a talkative one.

"Miss Stackhouse," I began, staring over my desk at the lump of living flesh on the floor. "Stand up."

I waited a moment, expecting a response or, better still, movement in the general direction of standing. It wasn't a request. She should be standing up any moment now. But she didn't move. She just sat there. Knelt there.

"Stand up." I repeated. I do not tend to repeat myself, but sometimes humans are hard of hearing. They are generally weak. But there was still no response. She just remained in the place where my guard had flung her. Hm. Strange. I pressed the intercom on my desk with one finger.

"Send in Louise."

Louise, my evening secretary, scuttled into the room immediately. She is one of the better humans I have had in my employ. Her resolve is incredible. It was she that reported the contents of our…gift from Louisiana, and without any of the usual remarks humans are known to make in such situations. She handles the majority of my correspondence as well, and her taste is impeccable. I find her an incredible woman. Her only fault, of course, is that she is incredibly professional.

"Yes, my King?" She was wearing a beautiful and professionally tailored business suit, black with a pink blouse beneath it. Stunning. Mm.

"Get her up." I gestured at the girl on the floor.

"Yes, Sir." She grabbed the girl rather roughly by the arm and lifted her somewhat up. Louise is, after all, only a human, and Miss Stackhouse probably outweighed her slightly. After some squirming and general movement that I found somewhat arousing, Louise finally managed to stand Sookie up and keep her that way.

"There. Much better." I nodded, pleased. "Now then, Miss Stackhouse, tell me. Why do I have Victor Madden's head in a box on my desk?"

It was incredible watching the reaction on the waitress's face. Whatever life I had once observed in her seemed to drain completely away, as though someone had opened that hole in her neck and let all the blood drain out at once. Her mouth moved, but sound did not follow. Whatever she had been doing to help Louise hold her up suddenly let go. Louise could no longer hold her steady. She dropped, like a stone, to the floor.

"My King, she appears to have fainted."

"Thank you, Louise. Get rid of her and send in Eric Northman."

* * *

"Mr. Northman?" A young woman walked into the uncomfortably cozy waiting room I'd been pacing in for the last ten minutes. She wore her hair pinned behind her head, and her cat eye glasses framed her face perfectly. I might have found her more attractive if I hadn't had so much on my mind.

"Where is she?" I seethed at her, getting in her face so suddenly that she took a step back. She kept her mouth straight, but I could tell she was taken aback. I have that effect on people.

"The King is ready to see you."

"That isn't what I asked."

"To whom are you referring?" She looked down at a clipboard in her hands, as if she were trying to keep de Castro's appointments organized.

"If you do not answer me in the next ten seconds, your head will join Madden's in that box."

"She is down the hall. Now, if you will please follow me, Mr. Northman. The King has many appointments this evening."

Of all the vague, insufferable… I growled to myself as I followed her into Felipe de Castro's connecting office. He was sitting at his desk, a vast black structure that blocked most of his body. He was still wearing that ridiculous cape, like a reject from a Dracula convention. I held in the urge to chuckle at his idiocy. He outranked me, the Bastard.

"Mr. Northman," the King addressed me without looking at me or getting up. Of course, I expected neither.

"My King," I replied through clenched teeth.

"You sent me a gift, I believe. Your note was vague. Might you explain what you meant by it?"

"My apologies, your Highness," I replied as calmly as I could. "I've forgotten what it says. Would you mind refreshing my memory?"

"Certainly," he nodded. From his desk, he retrieved the small piece of paper which Pam had handwritten a few days ago. "'Madden's remains.'"

"Ah, yes," I nodded. "Right."

"And by it you meant?"

"That they are Madden's remains."

"I see. And might you inform me as to why I have Victor Madden's remains in a box on my desk?"

"He attacked the human that you assigned me to protect." I tried to remain cordial, as nonchalant as the King seemed to be. It was difficult. I fought all urges to attack him and kill him as I had killed his second in command.

"Ah. Sookie Stackhouse. Yes." He seemed to think about her presence for awhile, in silence. "She was just here. She is rather a weak human, is she not? I cannot imagine what possessed me to take an interest in her in the first place. Her talent is useful to be sure, but in that body? It might be more advantageous to turn her and be done with it."

"With all due respect, your Highness," I cringed. "Your former Second lured me from my assignment under false pretenses, snatched Miss Stackhouse from her home, violated her on my desk, and attempted to claim her."

"She is a human, Eric. What do you care?" He leaned over the desk, looking at me closely. "Are you in some way involved with this human?"

"No," I lied. "But she is under my protection and my jurisdiction. It makes me look bad when your men challenge my authority in my own area."

"I see. Excuse me a moment."

De Castro picked up his phone and pressed a button. I could hear a voice on the other end, likely his secretary, but the only words they exchanged were vague yeses and nos. And then I knew what they had referenced. I could feel her through our bond, the terror, the shock, and her absolute need of me. My fangs dropped down reactively. I felt her heart pounding in my brain. Primitive response set in immediately. Run from the office. Find Sookie. Kill whomever was hurting her. Kill the King. Kill everybody. Save the girl. Don't wait. Go now. And as soon as it hit, it stopped. The King's phone clicked back on its hook. I withdrew my fangs. Well done, Eric. Good job with the nonchalance.

"She is yours," de Castro smirked, his Spanish accent lilting on his tongue.

"No," I said. That much was true. She was not mine, not in so many words.

"You care for her."

"Yes," I agreed. It was already evident. Lying was irrelevant.

"And when Victor tried to hurt her…"

"He did not try to hurt her, your Majesty. He hurt her. I could not get to her in time. Regardless of her status with me, regardless of the strength of our bond, I would have killed him. He invaded my territory and violated a human in my care."

"But if you cared nothing for her, you would not have sent me the package."

"It is unlikely."

"Yes. It was a very conscious act, this box. I would never have expected such a gift from you, Northman."

"You have my fealty, Sir. I accept whatever consequences are necessary for my actions." The vampire hierarchy is long-standing. Allegiance is important, at least, until I can find another way of living comfortably.

"Good."

The King sat back in his chair and looked at me over the bridge of his nose. He stood up for the first time since I'd been admitted into his office. Coming around the desk, he pushed the box of Madden's remains into the waste paper basket at the end of his table. It gave off a short sputter of dust.

"I would like to offer you Victor's position. Become my second in command."


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: I apologize in advance about my characterization of Dr. Ludwig. I hadn't intended to include her until I got a couple of suggestions from y'all. And I don't have my books anymore (I just moved) so I had no reference for her voice. I hope it's okay! _

_

* * *

_

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 17_

"I prefer Louisiana," I replied simply. It hadn't been what I was expecting. I'd expected to put up a fight, to defend Sookie, to do…something.

"I cannot say I understand, but…" he shrugged. "It is what it is."

"If that is all, your highness…?" I interrupted him, looking at the clock above his desk. I did not wish to subject Sookie to any more travel. If we could get home before dawn, I would go to any lengths to do it.

"Yes, yes. Race the sun back to the swamp." He waved his hand at me, a gesture of our release.

"Where is Sookie?"

"In the waiting room," he answered, disinterested.

"Thank you, your highness." I ended the formalities there and swung open the door to the adjoining room. There she was: my lover. She was slumped upon a sofa cushion, staring straight ahead, conscious but not lucid. I knelt on the floor in front of her and lifted a hand to lightly brush her chin. She did not look at me, but she brushed away my hand with a flick of her head. It was long past time for us to leave. And again, I felt like a failure to her, dragging her here when it was not necessary. I lifted her into my arms and she did not fight me. We were driven back to the plane and boarded a second time. She rode in my lap, her body tight and restrained. She never looked at me. She never spoke.

We arrived in Louisiana only a half-hour before daybreak. Pam sat with my car on the tarmac and we sped to my home, nestled among the boxwood hedges and perfectly manicured lawns of suburban Shreveport. Even when I carried her into the house, she did not look at me. She did not make a sound. She did not do anything. If I had not felt the ache of sleep upon my shoulders, I might have urged her more. Instead, I took her to the bedroom and fell upon the sheet. Though I worried for her, I could barely keep my eyes open. I fell asleep beside her, my arm tucked around her waist.

"It is time to call her," Pam frowned, standing in the bedroom an hour after sunset. I sighed and touched Sookie's knee. She stared straight ahead, as subdued and vacant as she'd been when I'd fallen asleep that morning. I wasn't even certain she'd moved since I'd placed her on the bed.

"Get the number," I sighed in agreement. I moved my hand to brush her hair back from her neck, but she pulled away from me. It was the only movement she displayed. Movement away. But she wasn't consistent, not even with that. I was worried. I was more than worried.

"Sookie, you are stronger than this." I tried to find her eyes, the fire in her that had always exhilarated me. "Look at me."

But she didn't. She didn't look at anything.

Beside me, Pam handed me the phone, which had already begun to ring. It picked up and a short-tempered voice answered on the other end.

"Dr. Ludwig's office," it squeaked.

"This is Eric Northman."

"Just a moment!" On the other end of the line, there was some shuffling and general chaos. The phone exchanged hands.

"This is Dr. Ludwig," she answered in a deep earthy voice.

"I need you at the house. Sookie Stackhouse is…" I paused. What was she? Comatose? In shock?

"Poisoned again? I'll bring the treatments."

"No, she hasn't been poisoned. She is…"

"A vegetable," Pam offered. I sneered at her.

"In shock," I guessed.

"Post traumatic stress disorder is certainly the least of Miss Stackhouse's many problems. However, I am on my way." The phone clicked off and I handed it back to Pam.

"Have you tried giving her pie? Maybe bringing her a beer? How about whipping it out? You know that makes her happy." Pam smirked at me and it took a great deal of self-control not to kill her on the spot. Perhaps my face gave away my intent.

"It's a joke, Eric. Where's your sense of humor?"

"I must have left it in my other pants," I replied flatly.

"Yes," she muttered. "I guess so. I'll just…wait by the door."

* * *

"All right then," Dr. Ludwig began, waddling into the bedroom and tossing a stool onto the floor so she could see over the lip of my bed. Sookie was still sitting there, unmoving. She was barely breathing. "What has happened to her this time?"

"She was attacked by another vampire."

"Attacked in what way, Mr. Northman? I am a doctor, not a mind reader."

"He assaulted her," I replied, trying not to use the word that stuck in my throat like a razor.

"I see the wound on her throat. However, it looks as if nature is taking its course in correcting the issue. You may feed her some of your blood to make the transition faster, but it should not have this kind of psychological effect."

"She was sexually assaulted," I clarified, my throat suddenly feeling dry and scratchy. Guilt swept into the room like a hurricane.

"I see." Dr. Ludwig pulled a few instruments from her bag, including one used to hear a human's heart beat. It was definitely beating, a steady sound that always seemed comforting. "And how long as she been like this?"

"We were summoned to Las Vegas yesterday to address de Castro. She was out of my care for a time, and when we were reunited, she was like this."

"So, a day or so?"

"Yes."

"Physically, I would say she is fine. Her body is healing, which is what it is supposed to do. Has she sustained any other physical traumas?"

"A bite at the femoral artery, yes."

"And it is healing as well?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"There is not much I can do for her, Mr. Northman. What she is experiencing is commonly referred to as post-traumatic stress disorder. All creatures experience it in different ways, and this response is clearly Sookie's. I would suggest, if you are concerned, sending her to a psychologist. However, humans have a very poor understanding of their own psyche. I doubt that, in this state, they can do much for her."

"Then you are saying there is nothing to be done?" I stared at her.

"Try to get her to eat something, drink fluids."

"She is suffering!"

"Do not raise your voice at me, Vampire. I am a busy woman and I took time out of my schedule in order to help your human. If you had been more specific as to her condition on the phone, I could have avoided wasting your time and mine."

I couldn't think of anything else to say, and when I finally lifted my head to confront the short-statured troll, she was gone. Anger replaced my feelings of guilt. Feelings. Before I'd met Sookie, I'd had no concept of the word. Now I was so obsessed with feelings and feeling them that I could barely think of anything else. I wanted to be angry with her, to release my aggression on the girl that had caused me so much frustration to begin with. But when I turned back to her, she only stared ahead like a doll. My soul sank into my gut like a stone. She was broken, and I hadn't prevented it. I had failed her.

"Sookie," I begged her, trying to take her face in my hands. She snapped away, but made no other sound or movement. Her torment radiated into me like the rays of the sun. "Tell me what to do."

"Eric," Pam said from the bedroom door. I turned to look at her, already glaring.

"What?"

"Let me talk to her, woman to woman or whatever."

"You expect me to leave," I assumed.

"You haven't eaten in almost a week." It was true, but I didn't feel hungry. "There's blood in the fridge."

"Trublood?" I groaned, disgusted at the thought of it.

"We still have some of the good stuff on the door shelf."

"Fine," I grunted, absent-mindedly looking forward to it. "But if you harm her…upset her…"

"I know, I know. You'll kill me where I stand. Where would you send my head? I mean, just out of curiosity."

* * *

He left without responding and I shut the bedroom door behind him. Sheesh. He was so uptight these days. Ever since he'd bonded with Sookie, he'd gotten to know that stick that was always shoved up Bill Compton's ass. Sookie seemed like a lot of trouble, but she was certainly cute. Not really my type, you know, but a decent human. I liked hanging out with her from time to time.

"So listen," I shrugged as I sat down on the bed next to her. Girl talk time. I could ask her all about what Eric was like in bed and she'd ask me all about how loud Amelia screams when I bite that juicy tit of hers. Except that this wouldn't be one of those times. I missed those times. We never had them really, but I always thought it would be fun. If she kept up this acting-like-a-frigid-zucchini thing though, we'd never get to have those times. Something had to be done. The stick up Eric's ass needed to be loosened.

"I was like you once. All happy go lucky and had the pretty boyfriend and was totally head over heels in love and everything. Being a human is strange. Everything happens so fast and it's all very dramatic. Like a television show."

I expected her to laugh or something, but all she did was sit there. It was getting annoying.

"Anyway, it happened to me too. The thing that happened to you. It wasn't a vampire, and my big Viking vampire boyfriend didn't come in and save me from him, but it happened and that's the same. I won't forget it, not even after hundreds of years. I've been a vampire since 1779, Sookie. That's a long time, a long time to be dead, a long time to forget about all those stupid things I did when I was a human. But that thing that he did to me? I never forgot it. I never will. It was so…okay, let's be honest. It was horrible, that's what it was. I didn't mean anything to him and I was just the closest thing available. And I knew him, Sookie. I'd been introduced to him and we traveled in the same circles. I couldn't even tell anyone because if I had, I would have been ruined. So, I had my time where I was all worked up and sad and everything and then I just…had to stop doing that."

"I'm just not very good at this kind of thing, Sookie. But I like you. So I'm trying. And Eric more than likes you. I've known Eric for three hundred years and he's never been bent out of shape about a human in all that time. Maybe ever. But here he is, whimpering like…like someone who's name we won't mention. He's acting like he just turned and doesn't know he isn't one of you anymore. It's sick. But kind of cute. Annoying though. I can't say I ever expected it. Anyway, you have to just…just…"

I paused. What are you trying to say, Pam?

"Just stop acting all weird and tell Eric to stop treating you like you're going to break. You're better than that, Sookie. You're pretty tough, for a human."


	18. Chapter 18

**From the Waist Down**

_Chapter 18_

"Hm," Pam grumbled, assessing the pretty blond waitress for a good thirty seconds before she got up. No movement. Not even a twitch. "Well, I tried. If you're going to be a vegetable, I guess you're going to be one."

I opened the door and looked into the room. Pam was getting up from her spot across from Sookie. There was no change in her face. Her expression was still fixed, her hands still folded limply across her lap. She still looked like a living doll.

"You ate," Pam nodded at me. "But you still look like hell."

"Did she say anything?"

"No. She just sat there and stared at me."

I placed my empty glass upon the dresser and returned to my lover's side. I had no idea what to do for her, how to ease her suffering. I suffered too, suffered watching her. We were disconnected, and yet, I could not detach from her completely. I longed to bring her peace. It was simply instinct to pull her close, to touch her in comfort. My palm drifted up to her cheek with purpose, but not with choice. I found her vacant eyes, and I swore that within them I could see her struggling. When my fingers connected with her, she did not draw away.

"Sookie," I frowned, finding the soul she'd tucked away inside herself. "I am scared."

"I need to go home," she replied faintly.

"My lover, I do not think…" I started, already worrying about the implications, the variables.

"I need to go home without you," she said.

"Sookie," I repeated, furrowing my brow.

"The trip to see Felipe… It was too much for me, Eric. I need some time away. I just need to remember how to live again. I need to get away from all the politics."

"It isn't safe for you to be alone, Sookie. You could get hurt. You could…" I paused, choking on the words.

"Victor is dead," she said, stuttering on the finally dead vampire's name. "The King knows everything. What else is there?"

She slid off the bed to her feet and looked between me and Pam, her face hardening with her decision. My heart was stricken, like I'd been stabbed with a rod of silver. Pam's face was as flat as mine was raw with emotion.

"I just need to be myself for awhile," Sookie sighed, looking at the floor. "I need to figure out who I am again, see how much of me has really changed. Here, with you, I'm Sookie Stackhouse, the v…the victim. But out there, I might be Sookie Stackhouse, the survivor."

"I do not understand," I sighed, not ready to resign myself to her leaving. What could I do to stop her? Chain her to the bed?

"I know," she said. "Will you drive me home?"

Reluctantly, I agreed to take her back to Bon Temps again. On the drive, she said nothing. Through our bond, I could feel her conflict of emotions: resolution, independence, fear, and doubt. She looked over at me across the seat, but could think of nothing to say. At the house, I walked her to the door. The lights were on inside, and I knew her small human and were family would be waiting for her.

"I love you," she said to me, her voice struggling to be above a whisper.

"I love you too," I replied. I took her hand in both of mine, burying her palm in my fingers. I did not wish to release her, but the door opened behind her. I let her go. She went into the house and shut the door.

* * *

I remembered how to breathe as soon as I was inside. Amelia and Jason looked up from the kitchen table and scurried into the front hall to embrace me. I held them off at arm's length. Just not ready for that one yet. I took a deep breath and forced myself not to hear Amelia's brutally loud thoughts. But the first one was pretty hard to ignore. _Now that she's back, she's going to want to see the damage. _

"What did they do?" I begged her, wondering about the old house.

"The outside wall will need to be repainted. Jason did some work on it while you were gone."

"Yeah, you shouldn't need any repairs, sis. Just a couple coats of white paint and it'll be square."

"I'll go to the store tomorrow," I resolved. Simple enough. Painting is very relaxing.

We walked into the living room, the three of us, and my eyes fell immediately on the hideous floral couch. He'd been sitting on that couch and I'd never liked it anyway. I picked up one side of it to gauge its weight. Jason ran around to grab the other side immediately and Amelia swung open the front door.

"Tomorrow," I groaned, lugging the furniture out of the house with my brother. "We're going to buy a new couch."

"Hey, maybe we could go to Sears or something!" Amelia smiled cheerfully.

"I don't know if I can afford all that. I was just going to go to a couple garage sales." I frowned as we walked back from the trash pile beside the mail box.

"Oh come on, Sook. This is new furniture. When was the last time you bought furniture?"

"Uh…never," I admitted.

"It'll be fun! At least we could go and look. Get our minds off…uh…things."

"Clever distraction," I nodded.

"Exactly!"

* * *

It took me a month to get back to work, but as the days passed and I began to think about things like Christmas, I had resumed the regular parts of my irregular life. On Sam's request, and maybe a little of mine too, I worked mostly day shifts. If my bank account's status was any indication, though, I was just about ready to return to evenings. The days are really slow except for the lunch rush, and I missed the piles of tips waiting to go to the bank. I'd been eating at home more, and none of the stuff I'd been making has been particularly fancy or expensive. I wasn't down to ramen noodles yet, but I wasn't far above it with spaghetti and canned sauce.

Sam touched me on the shoulder and I jumped, startled by the unexpected touch. He tried to smile kindly, but I could see the worry, plain as day on his face. He leaned closer to me, across the bar.

"Hey, Sook, you okay?" His eyes were wide.

"I'm fine, Sam!" I smiled at him, and it wasn't a forced thing like it was a few weeks ago when I started working. "I was just thinking about going back to nights."

"What? Look, Sook, I don't think that's such a good idea…"

"Sam, you gotta stop treating me with kid gloves," I warned him in a friendly sort of way. "I'm not going to break."

Sam laughed, and nodded thoughtfully. His worry was still there, like a cloud over his head, and maybe it would never really go away. Still, we all had to start treating me like I was Sookie Stackhouse, the telepathic waitress. It was just like Pam said. I was better than some sheepish victim that couldn't take six steps without screaming. And anyway, the nightmares were less frequent now, the scares less terrifying. I'd probably never get to watch _Thelma and Louise _again, but oh well. Maybe I could just fast forward to the good stuff.

I drove home at five, just as the sun was falling into the cold December horizon. Amelia was already there because we'd made an effort to be at home at the same time for each other. I could smell the somewhat boring scent of tomato sauce brewing in the kitchen, and I sat down at the table to tell my roommate about my day. My book sat near my chair and I picked it up to skim through the last few pages I'd read. Amelia and I had gotten it from the big bookstore chain in Clarice. It was about surviving trauma, and what survivors could do to get their lives sorted out. I'd already written a nice letter to the author.

"Jason called a minute ago," Amelia said, looking back at me while she dried a couple of dishes.

"Oh, is he coming over tonight?" I blinked. Was it Wednesday already?

"Yep, and you know he's going to want some of this delicious pasta too." Amelia looked at the noodles she'd drained into our strainer. "I'm really getting sick of pasta."

"Me too."

"You know what? Bills be damned! Tomorrow, I'm buying some potatoes."

"Really?" I squeaked with barely contained joy.

"You bet. And we're going to make potato gratin and, and…" She looked in the fridge. "And hot dogs!"

"Sounds delicious," I giggled.

Jason knocked on the door and walked in without waiting for us to answer. Typical brother stuff, and I didn't mind. He waltzed into the kitchen and peered over Amelia's shoulder at the supper she was preparing. His eyes bulged a little and he rubbed his stomach thoughtfully.

"Mmm, spaghetti?" He asked, a little hope glinting in his eyes.

"Yep," I nodded.

"Didn't you have spaghetti last Wednesday too? You must've known I was comin'. I love spaghetti."

"Yes we did, and uh, yes we did. You come over every Wednesday."

"Keep making spaghetti and I'll keep coming over," Jason grinned. "You ready to go?"

"Yep," I nodded.

One of the things the book suggested was having a routine. If you had a routine, you could keep your mind off things until you were ready to think about them. I'd always had a routine, but I wanted to add one little thing to it. So, as soon as I came back, Jason and I made a weekly date to see Gran. He walked me down into the cemetery, the place where we'd played as children, and we stopped at Gran's grave. Jason never really had much to say to her. He'd tell her about some pie he had and how it wasn't as great as Gran's pie. Then he'd run out of steam and stand next to a tree while I told Gran about my own day. I told her when it started getting easier, when I'd had a bad dream. I told her how much I missed Eric, but that I wasn't ready to see him again.

"Tonight I miss him a lot, Gran," I frowned, playing with the grass in front of her headstone. "I feel like there's this part of me that's missing. I think tonight I'll call him."

We walked back to the house after an hour. Jason didn't need a flashlight to lead me back through the woods, but I appreciated him turning on the light and guiding me anyway. We walked out of the trees and Jason went on and on about Gran's spaghetti sauce and how great it was. I was distracted by the big car sitting on the gravel. It wasn't a bad sort of surprise though, just an unexpected one. Eric was standing on the porch, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Amelia had the front door open, and they were just talking mildly. I wondered how long he'd been waiting for me.

"Wow, speak of the devil," Jason smiled, taking me up the porch steps. He walked into the house without me and Amelia shut the door, winking as she did.

"Sookie," Eric murmured. Through our bond, which buzzed happily now that he was so close to me, I could feel how worried he was. He looked at me for several seconds and neither of us said anything.

"Why don't we sit on the porch swing?" I asked him. I walked in front of him and sat down, and Eric sat awkwardly next to me, like we were on a first date or something.

"I was offered another promotion," Eric began, looking at his hands instead of at me. This was all very weird. "But I turned it down. I am growing tired of the politics."

"Yeah," I said. "Me too."

"I was in my office the other night, cleaning up," Eric started again, this time even more nervously than before. The last time I'd been there, I'd been with Victor, but I didn't want to think about that.

"Uh huh," I said, waiting for him to continue.

"I found this on the floor," he said, clearly confused. He pulled a black velvet box out of his jacket pocket and held it in his hands, turning it over and over. "I don't know how it got there, but I bought it to give to you."

He turned to me and handed me the box, not in a casual way but not really in a meaningful way either. Why was this all so weird, this exchange between us? Was it just because we hadn't seen each other in so long? I looked down at the box and remembered it instantly. I'd found it in Eric's drawer.

"I used it as a projectile," I laughed softly. "You really need to have more weapons in your office."

"Oh, hm," he cracked a smile. "Perhaps I should have gotten something in silver."

I opened the box. On a piece of velvet, there sat a beautiful gold chain with a heart pendant. It was a simple necklace, but I didn't doubt that it had been very expensive. I took it out of the box and turned around so that Eric could fasten it around my neck.

"Eric," I murmured, touched.

"I failed you, my lover," he sighed, looking back down at his hands. "I'm sorry. That isn't why I came. I do not wish to upset you. I only want you to know."

"You didn't though," I said, putting a hand over his. He lifted his eyes to look at me, and his blue eyes were brimmed with bright red blood tears. "You saved me. I don't want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't been there."

"Nor do I," he whispered. He stood then, and took me by the hand to bring me to my feet.

We stood there awkwardly, just looking at each other. I wanted to kiss him, but there was this weird little fear in the back of my head. It was just wheedling away. Screw it, I thought. He seemed to think the same thing, and we went in for the kiss together. Despite his cold lips, his pale skin, the kiss was as warm as I could have ever wished. He took my hands and pulled me close, folding me against his chest.

"Do you want to come in?" I smiled at him.

"Hm," he grinned, that same devilish grin. "If you will bend my arm."

"Twist your arm, Eric," I giggled. "And I am."

The End.


End file.
